


Northbound Train

by BozBozBoz



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Abandoned a long time ago, C19 Upload, F/M, Hiatus, I don't remember what I was doing with this though..., Might pick back up?, Old Fic, TV Series Continuation, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BozBozBoz/pseuds/BozBozBoz
Summary: Picking up from where the 2004 miniseries left off, John and Margaret travel to Milton together to start their new life.
Relationships: Margaret Hale/John Thornton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really, really old fic I uploaded between 2006 & 2008 on the C19 proboard under the name Boz.
> 
> It's 7 chapters and is unfinished, but as the boards closed before Christmas I've decided to move it here so that if I ever find the time, I can possibly pick it back up again and finish it. I've no real memory of where I planned to take it, but it's been quite fun rediscovering it. I can't promise I'll get around to doing much with it immediately, but if you like it, and you all nag me enough, you never know!

Margaret suppressed a smile as the train pulled into Outwood Station – how different had her feelings been on the first occasion she had set eyes upon this stop. At the time the sight of the platform and its little plaque, announcing her family’s arrival in the grim northern town which was to become their home had been nothing but harbingers of doom. There would be no-one like them there, her mother had declared. How very right she had been. These Milton folk were made of a different metal entirely, unlike anything she had ever encountered before. It had taken her some months to get used to them, in their rude and unpolished state, but now as she returned again, after many months spent stagnating in London, she arrived with the full conviction that there were no people better than them in the entire country.

Her heart lifted as she thought of the possibility of seeing their faces again. Dear Nicholas and Mary Higgins, and all the little Boucher children. She felt a pang of sorrow at the recollection that her dear friend Bessie would not be among those familiar and well loved faces. She had lost so many dear to her in this place, her poor Mama and her dear old father. But it was not they who occupied her thoughts as she stepped from the carriage and looked timorously down the platform. Instead her head and heart were full of him and her heart beat thick and fast as she grasped within her small, dainty hands the very papers with which she hoped to become the instrument of his salvation, his reinstation to his rightful place – the master of Marlborough Mills.

On the journey up she had made poor Henry repeat the plans to her over and over again. She was determined that this would appear to be nothing more than a well thought out business proposition. Marlborough Mills was, after all, her property, and it would be so much easier not to have to seek another tenant, especially as the present was so reliable and, well, agreeable… However, she knew of these northern men’s pride. It would not do to have this appear as charity. No indeed, it must be purely business. Business was, after all, Mr Thornton’s first language, and anything else… well, she would have to put it from her mind. Had he not made it perfectly clear that any thoughts he had held of that nature were well and truly over? No, that ship had sailed, she had missed her chance, and now she must content herself with comforting him in the only capacity available to her, that of Landlord and investor.

Still, it was with a heaving heart and trembling limbs which she approached the gate of Marlborough Mills. The yard seemed silent and ghostly without the clamour and bustle of business. It was as if the very life and soul had been removed from the place. She looked about her, not a soul was to be seen. She peered upwards in the direction of the house, half hoping, half dreading to see him at the window, but there was no-one to be seen. Even Mrs Thornton had abandoned her post by the curtains, where she had once looked out on her son’s bustling empire with such pride.

‘Shall I go and seek someone to receive us?’ asked Henry at her side.

Margaret started a little and withdrew from her private reverie.

‘No, thank you Henry. I will go and look for Mr Thornton myself. I suppose I may show myself into the offices, as it is my property. You may wait here until I return with him.

Henry looked a little concerned, as if he felt there was something not quite proper about her roaming about the mill by herself, but remained silent. He knew better than to argue with Margaret. He had felt her sudden decision to invest in this failed manufacturer had been more than a little rash, but it seemed she would brook no refusal, and there was money to be made in cotton after all, so he had let it pass. She had been growing steadily to rely on him over these last few months, and he didn’t want to jeopardise this new position of trust, in the hope that it might one day lead to further intimacy.

Leaving Henry in the clerks’ office, Margaret turned and walked into the Mill. She could not help but recall her first visit to the site, all that time ago. On that occasion she had seen Mr Thornton beat a worker for smoking near the looms. The event had repulsed her, and yet she had felt herself drawn to the power of the man. Such displays of emotion, violent or otherwise, were not to be found in the polite society of London. It thrilled her and terrified her in equal measure. Perhaps, had it not been for the violent nature of their first encounter, reinforcing the many prejudices which she now recognised she held about life in a northern industrial town, she might have been inclined to be a little softer towards Mr Thornton, and she would not have found herself in the painful situation which she was now in. But that was then, and this was now; there was nothing she could do about it. Since that point she had come to admire and love Mr Thornton in a way which she would not have imagined would have been possible. Even now, the very ghost of his presence thrilled along her every nerve, and the possibility of meeting him at the next turn made the blood course hot and fast through her veins.

She paused by a window to gaze out into the yard, remembering that fateful day of the riots when he had run across from the Mill into the house. There was a vulnerability and softness in his look as he turned back to look up at the Irish millhands, cowering in the top window, and for a moment she felt she had glimpsed his inner self, the frightened little boy who lost his father some fourteen years ago. But the hardness in his voice when he spoke of the soldiers had removed and tender feelings she might have allowed to surface. She blushed at the recollection of her actions, the thrill which had run through her very being when she was so close to him. Why had she been so stupid, so very blind?

A noise behind her jarred her from her daydream. Was it him, was he here? The breath caught in her throat, and she froze on the spot, unable to turn around.

‘He’s not here, if you’ve come to gloat,’ came the voice, cold, clipped and laden with sadness. ‘Come to look over your possessions have you, when he’s worked all his life for them?’

Margaret turned slowly to face Mrs Thornton, her heart ached with pity for her. She thought she looked older, tired and worn, though she still kept up the stern exterior and proud deportment. She smiled sadly and said in her softest tone ‘You once accused me of not knowing what kind of man I had rejected, and you were right. But if you think I do not feel keenly the misfortune of this empty place, then you do not know me.’ She stepped forwards, her eyes radiating sadness and pity. Tempted as she was to reveal the true nature of her visit, she resisted. Mrs Thornton was as proud of her son as a mother could possibly be, and Margaret knew that her rejection of him had not placed her highly in his mother’s esteem. She would not find an ally in her, and she felt she would certainly not take kindly to sympathy coming from her, especially after the cruel irony of her inheriting the mills.

‘I don’t know where he is,’ Mrs Thornton began, and Margaret noticed a hint of fear behind her eyes. ‘Not that I’m worried for myself,’ she added hastily. ‘He’ll see me right, he always has.’

Margaret stepped forward and placed her hand on the woman’s folded arms, before turning and walking quietly out of the room. She did not wish to intrude on a mother’s grief, and there was something in her expression which had troubled her exceedingly. When she had announced his absence in such troubled tones, Margaret’s thoughts had immediately flown to his father. Surely Mr Thornton wouldn’t do anything so rash, so utterly stupid? It did not bear thinking about. She made her way hastily to the offices and collected Henry.

‘I regret to say that I have wasted your time Henry,’ she said solemnly. ‘Mr Thornton is not here. It is not known he will be back. I ought to have sent word of my visit. We shall return to London and you shall undertake to write for me, and complete this transaction in the customary manner.’

‘As you wish,’ Henry answered, nodding a low bow and escorting her from the office. He thought she looked a little pale and drawn. Perhaps the memories associated with returning to the town where she had known so much sorrow had been more taxing upon her than she had suspected, he would not trouble her now with questions.

On the journey home Margaret sat grave and quiet, considering all that she had heard. Her heart was heavy and troubled. If only she could have seen him, even if he had ignored her, she would rather that than this uncertainty. At least then she would know that he was well, in short, that he was alive. She could not believe that he would be so foolish though. Mr Thornton was a proud man, but he was not weak. He had built himself up from nothing before; surely he could do it again? He was not his father, he could cope. The failure had not been his fault, in business he was respected and admired, she was sure of it, he could not have conducted his affairs with more integrity and dignity than he did. And yet - to sink so low after a lifetime of hard work. Perhaps that was more than any man could bear, even one so remarkable as Mr Thornton. Oh, it was unbearable, to lose him now, when she was only just beginning to learn what he really was, it was unjust, unjust.

The train pulled into Midland Central station and came to rest at the platform.

‘We have a ten minute break here,’ said Henry, from behind his newspaper. ‘I believe we have to wait for a northern train to pass.’

Her head thick and swimming with worry, Margaret stepped from the carriage onto the platform. She needed air, needed to breathe. She stood on the platform, feeling the breeze gently caress her face, and watched a train arrive at the opposite platform, travelling in the other direction. She reached a hand up to brush a few stray tendrils of hair from her face, and as she did, she spotted a familiar face through the window of the passing carriage. It rolled slowly along the platform edge before coming to a screeching halt almost directly in front of her.

She moved forward, as if pulled on by some invisible force. It could not be possible. He had been so much on her mind these past few hours, she must be imagining it. Yet, as she looked the realisation began to dawn, it was him. He was well, and alive, and here. He gazed distractedly out of the window, at some invisible point in distance, seemingly unaware of her, or anyone else around him. He was dressed scruffily, his shirt open at the collar, divested of his cravat and jacket. He looked somehow different, freed from the trappings of his status as a master, vulnerable, human, and fiercely attractive. She saw the recent months of care and stress etched onto his stern brow, and read the trouble in his deep blue eyes. How she wished to reach out and smooth it away, plant kisses on that brow of rock and cradle him until all his cares melted away. But instead she simply stood and stared, her eyes wide and swimming in disbelief, willing him to look up, however briefly, and see her.

The passenger sharing his compartment rose and exited the carriage, leaving the door swinging wide. Mr Thornton sat, seemingly unaware, before rising wearily and extending a hand to pull the door shut. As he did he raised his eyes and met her gaze. What a look greeted her. An expression of the most heartfelt joy diffused over his face. His eyes drank in her face greedily and threw out flashing rays of love and passion. In one fluid movement he exited the train and was at her side.

‘Where are you going’ he asked, abruptly, his voice cracked with emotion.

‘To London,’ she replied, glancing back at the train. ‘I have been to Milton.’

Their eyes met, and Margaret, abashed by his searching eyes, looked away, unable to think of what to say, or where to look.

He spoke next. ‘You might guess where I have been,’ he said softly, gazing intently into her eyes. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a yellow flower, presenting it to her tenderly.

‘You’ve been to Helstone!’ she said, in a tone of delight and surprise. ‘I thought these were all gone.’

‘I found it in the hedge,’ he said gently. ‘You have to look closely.’

He gazed at her face, his heart heaving with passion, unable to believe that she was really here. These past few months, as he watched his life’s work crumble and fall around him, he had felt crushed, numb and deadened. But the pain he felt at losing his business was nothing in comparison to that which he had felt as he had watched her drive away in the carriage, all the time willing her to turn and look back at him one last time, just to give him hope, even if it was an impossible one. What use was an empire without Margaret to share it? After she left everything he had worked for seemed empty and worthless. He had carried on numbly, out of a sense of duty to his family and his name more than anything, but it was the thought that he had lost Margaret, that he would never see her again, and that she loved another, that crushed his spirit and kept him from sleep at night. It was ironic then, that on the very day his business closed, he heard the most welcome piece of news he had received for some time. It was her brother. There was no other love, she was not unchaste – dear sweet Margaret, who had willingly risked her reputation and dared the censure of others for the sake of her family, how much he loved her. It was at that point that he made the decision to travel to Helstone. Though he might never see her again, at least there he could feel as though he was near to her, and breathe the very air that had nurtured her as a child. And now here she was, standing in front of him, telling him that she was at this very minute returned from Milton! Oh, unhappy coincidence! What a day to choose to go away, on the very day that she, his heart’s one true darling, had decided to return.

‘Why were you in Milton?’ He asked, his eyes searching her face, and all the while drinking in her presence, her exquisite beauty, as if each look might be the last.

‘On business,’ she began, looking somewhat awkward. ‘That is, I have a business proposition. Oh dear, I need Henry to help me explain.’

She started towards the carriage, when he arrested her with a soft touch at her elbow.

‘You don’t need Henry,’ he began, guiding her towards a bench. He was curious. What form of business proposition could take her to Milton? All the details about the tenancy were to be settled with Lennox, her lawyer. He could hardly think of him without pangs of jealousy. And yet, could it be that she had really travelled all that way to speak to him? No, he could not let himself hope, and yet, while he had her he would not share her with another, even if it be for only a few precious moments, he must have her entirely to himself.

‘Oh dear,’ she began. ‘I must get this right. It is a business proposition. I have some fifteen thousand pounds, it is sitting in the bank at present earning me very little interest,’ she faltered, looking up and meeting his intense gaze, before blushing deeply and dropping her eyes. ‘Now,’ she began again, more firmly. He smiled at her formal to-the-point tone. ‘My financial advisors inform me that if I were to give the money to you, you might carry on working Marlborough Mills, and would be able to offer me a much better rate of interest.’

Mr Thornton’s breath caught in his throat. His heart swelled and beat against his chest, threatening to burst is confinement with the intensity of his emotions. Could it be? Had she just offered him her entire fortune that he might continue to work Marlborough Mills? She, who had enough money to survive on for the rest of her life, and who would be assured of further income through the re-letting of Marlborough Mills? What reason could she have for this? Could it possibly be? He stared at her intensely, hardly catching the rest of her words and she falteringly continued.

‘So you see, it is just a business proposition, you would be under no obligation…’

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he reached his hand down and grasped hers where it lay on her lap. He must act in some way, his heart would not let him remain silent. He had lost her once already, he could not let her go again without letting her know, in some way, what he still felt, what he had always felt.

‘… it is you who would be doing me the service.’

Margaret’s voice faltered as she felt his hand on hers. Could it possibly be? Could he really still love her after everything she had done, everything she had said, everything he had seen? It was not possible. Yet she could not go on with the pretence, she must let him know how she felt. He might throw her hand away the next second if he would, but no matter. Decorum to the wind, she rode on a tide of emotion, and taking his hand and enclosing it with her other, she lifted it and pressed it fervently to her lips.

The shock which ran through Mr Thornton’s body was palpable. It shot through him, stirring his loins and causing his heart to freeze and then beat wildly and violently against his ribcage. A look of sheer delight diffused across his face and he moved his hand to her cheek, stroking the tendrils of hair which hung there. Slowly, he leant forward, holding his breath for what seemed like an eternity, and planted a soft, tender kiss on her lips. He waited, expecting all the while to be repulsed, for her to stand up and walk away in disgust, but to his delight he felt her respond. The ragged nature of her breath told him that her feelings and passions ran in accordance with his own, was such bliss ever known by man before? He kissed her again, repeatedly, each kiss becoming more passionate, more needy and more intense than the last. The feel of her lips against his, moving, reciprocating in his every desire was overwhelming, every atom of his flesh was aflame with her intense beauty.

The shrill shock of the stationmaster’s whistle returned the outside world to their consciousnesses. Margaret looked into his eyes, reading his deep need within them. Silently she rose and crossed the platform back to her own carriage. Mr Thornton stood up and watched her go. Something under his ribs seemed to snap and he felt his heart flutter and die within him. His knees weakened and he reached out to find something solid to steady him. She was going, without so much as a word or a further look. Of all the recent tragedies he had had to bear, this was the worst. Not a moment ago he seemed to be drinking at the very fount of bliss, and now he found himself cast out into a wasteland. His whole body ached and cried out at her loss, hot tears pricked behind his eyes, and he turned away from her. ‘I have watched her leave me once before, when I thought she would never be mine’ he thought, ‘I cannot do it again. To see her leave when at last I felt I might have hope of her would be too much. I feel that to witness it might be to kill me.’ He lowered his eyes and stood for some moments like a statue, while he heard the whistle and rush of steam as the train pulled away behind him.

Slowly he raised his eyes and made to get back into the carriage, only to be greeted by the sight of her reflection in the window behind him. His heart leapt up within him and he wheeled round to face her.

‘You’re coming home with me?’ he asked, in a tone of rapture and disbelief.

Margaret simply smiled and handed him her carpet bag, before stepping into the carriage. She settled into her seat, and as he stepped in beside her she noted the broad smile which was emblazoned across his face. It was unlike any expression she had ever seen on him before. His usually stern and brooding features at once metamorphosed into a very mask of delight. His eyes sparkled and laughed. He looked almost boyish, and she found she had to suppress a giggle so deep was her joy.

As the train pulled away he leant forward again and kissed her repeatedly. As they broke away from each other, he looked at her as if in disbelief, all the time expecting that she might disappear, that he might find that this was a dream, such as he had had many a night in Milton, when he awoke to find himself alone and sweating in his own bed.

Some time passed before either of them felt they were able to speak.

‘Miss Hale,’ he began, his voice sounding strange and trembling to his ears.

‘Margaret, please,’ she interrupted, blushing slightly, ‘after all that has passed…’ she trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

‘Margaret,’ he began again, his voice now deep and sonorous with passion. ‘You must forgive me my blunt manners, we Milton men don’t possess the elegance of phrase which you are perhaps used to in London. But I have to ask, “after all that has passed” as you so delicately put it, where do we, I, stand?’ He held her hand in his own trembling grasp and gazed intensely into her eyes.

‘Well, Mr Thornton’

‘John!’ he exclaimed – his turn to interrupt.

‘Well, John,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘I would have thought I had made it very clear to you where we stand. I don’t know about in Milton, but in London, girls do not make a habit of going home with men unless,’ she paused briefly, ‘unless their intentions are honourable.’

He exhaled audibly and gripped her hand with a fervent passion. ‘Margaret, my own sweet Margaret,’ he panted in her ear, kissing her deeply and passionately.

Margaret felt a hot wave of excitement pass over her body at his touch. She was not aware that is was possible for any many to make her feel this way, let alone a rough Milton manufacturer. She could see she would have to be careful. Honourable though his intentions may well be, if she didn’t watch herself closely, she was fairly certain that their actions would not be!

‘Now, Mr Thornton,’ she said, breaking away from him and struggling to regain her composure.

He shot her a surprised glance at the return of the formal mode of address.

An impish look gathered in her eye and she raised her eyebrow saucily. ‘Much as I am enjoying your ‘rough manners,’’ (a return of the deep crimson blush betrayed her true emotion) ‘I have to inform you that in London, it is the custom for gentlemen to ask a lady before claiming them as ‘their own’. Now, I may have placed the cart somewhat before the horse in agreeing to return with you before I was formally asked, but in circumstances such as ours this unconventionality is acceptable. I certainly wasn’t about to let you get away from me again for the sake of a formality. However, now the urgency of the moment is passed, perhaps you would do me the honour of confirming your intentions? At least,’ she added, catching the look in his eye, ‘those which are fit to be uttered in the presence of a lady!’

Mr Thornton shot her a look of greatest incredulity at this little speech. He had always known that she was a remarkable woman, forward and forthright in all her opinions, but he hadn’t quite expected this. He gave a low chuckle and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Very well Miss Hale, as we are being proper, please forgive me my forwardness, not to mention my rather unconventional appearance,’ he fumbled in his pocket and to Margaret’s slight disappointment, began to re tie his cravat. ‘There,’ he said ‘Will that do?’

She nodded her silent approval.

‘Well then, Miss Hale,’ he began, taking her hands in his and looking her deep in the eye, ‘will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’

‘Mr Thornton, I will.’ She answered, kissing him again, and sighing deeply.

As the train rattled onwards towards Milton, she began to think over the days events. Poor Henry had seemed so confused at the station, he had hardly known where to look when he handed her her bag. She would have to write to her Aunt Shaw immediately, else they would think that this Milton man had corrupted her, and might well organise a rescue party in attempt to protect her virtue. She grimaced a little at the thought of her Aunt’s reactions. She had not been overly fond of Milton during the short period she had visited after her father’s death, and she knew she would not approve of her marrying a rough, penniless manufacturer.

‘Is anything the matter, love?’ asked Mr Thornton, noticing the troubled expression crossing her face.

‘Oh, no, it is nothing of consequence John,’ she answered, attempting to keep her voice a little lighter than she really felt. ‘I was only thinking about the task of informing our relatives. I’m fairly certain of how mine will react, and you know your mother was never very fond of me either.’

John smiled. He loved the sound of his name on her lips. The reality of the situation had yet to sink in – Marlborough Mills was safe, and she, she was coming home with him. It was too much. He smiled gently and took her hands as the train began to pull into Outwood station. ‘She will learn to love you when she knows you,’ he said softly. ‘How could she not?’

With that he opened the carriage door and helped her out onto the platform. Margaret sighed deeply and took his arm. Only a few hours earlier she had stood on this very platform, her heart heavy, fearing for his very safety. Now he was here, and he was hers. That was courage enough for anything, even an encounter with Mrs Thornton!


	2. Chapter Two

The platform at Outwood Station was buzzing with activity; people rushed along the carriages, often laden with large boxes or other such packages. Margaret clung closely to John, her fingers gripping his arm tightly so that he could feel each of her small fingers through the material of his shirt.

‘Are you alright my love?’ he asked, looking down with concern into her face.

Margaret nodded slowly and smiled.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she answered, ‘only I’d forgotten how busy Milton could be at this hour! It is a little shocking after the slowness of London, but I’m sure I will re-adjust in time,’ she smiled again, more confidently this time. ‘I never thought I should hear myself saying this, but I have missed this place, with all its buzzing activity and life, dirty and smoky though it may be!’

John smiled broadly and laughed, ‘Shh, my dear. You don’t want to be saying that too loudly. London slow and Milton has its virtues! Why every tongue in the town will be wagging!’

‘I think the tongues will wag anyway,’ she replied. ‘I know enough of Milton folk to know how they love their gossip, and here I am, without a chaperone, on the arm of a man at the station!’ She blushed a little, thinking back to the incident with her brother Fred and Leonards. Still unaware of his enlightenment regarding that event, she simply contributed his present change or heart, the re-kindling of his ‘foolish passion’ as he himself had put it, to the months of forced separation. She would have to enlighten him at some point, but now, as they made their way towards a cab, they had more pressing matters to discuss. In particular, his mother.

‘Had I better let you tell her first, John?’ she asked as the cab pulled away in the direction of Marlborough Mills. ‘I could perhaps go to a hotel, and wait until you had got her used to the idea, before I put in an appearance…’

‘Nonsense,’ he replied sharply. ‘I’ll not think of having you in a hotel. Mother will come round eventually,’ he took her hand and patted it. ‘She’s not so bad as you think you know,’ he said softly. ‘She only wants for my happiness, and you, my beautiful Margaret, have ensured that.’ She blushed deeply, as he planted a soft kiss on her lips. ‘And besides,’ he said, breaking away, ‘if she doesn’t approve of you as my wife – and I sometimes wonder if she would ever approve of anyone! – She will be more than sensible of the service you render us by allowing me to continue to work the Mills. Our home is safe, and our reputation saved, and all by you Margaret! I’m sure that that will be enough, if not to make her love you, then at least to make her civil!’

  
  


Margaret laughed and settled into her seat. She tried to concentrate on the scenery passing before her, noting which shops had been re-painted, who had closed, and who had moved. She read the various posters announcing forthcoming events in the Milton area, noting with a pang one in particular, which announced with regrets, the closure of Marlborough Mills for business, and thinking with deep satisfaction, that one of the first actions she would undertake once she had settled in, was to ensure that each of those posters was plastered over with a larger, even finer one announcing its re-opening. She continued to occupy herself in this manner until the coach turned into the Mill yard, and she was once again forced to turn her mind to the task in hand.

Hannah Thornton’s heart leapt up at the sound of the coach wheels on the cobbles outside. It was him, he had returned. She was not sure whether to be furious or enraptured, but she endeavoured to compose herself by taking up a piece of embroidery, useless as it may be, seeing as everything would soon have to be sold, and fine linens would count for nothing. She sat herself into the chair, determined not to look as thought she had been in the least bit worried, and waited for him to arrive. She heard his step cross the threshold, and his familiar tones rumbling some sort of command to a servant below, before he mounted the stairs towards the drawing room.

But who was that with him? She was certain she heard a second, lighter step following him. Perhaps he had met some business acquaintance or another, and had brought them home to tie up his affairs. Poor John, this was such an unpleasant business. She was deeply sensible of the injustice of the situation, he was a good master, perhaps a little too good – his softer side had led to some extravagant gestures on his part in order to improve the conditions for the hands – but he had always worked hard, and run the mill in a fair and sensible way. He never took risks, and always did everything he could to ensure that the place ran smoothly and efficiently. He had worked hard, harder than any man she had ever known, to get himself where he was, and to have it all taken away from him in such a way, it was too cruel.

As he reached the top of the stairs she heard him speak again. His voice was low, which prevented her hearing what he had said, but she thought she detected a new tone in his voice. It was somewhat lighter and less oppressed than the previous few months, as if a weight had been lifted from him. Perhaps, she thought with a glimmer of optimism, he has found a new position. Perhaps that is where he has been today, maybe he has heard news of something which may suit, and has been to make enquiries.

She heard a third step on the stair, and a servant entered carrying the tea tray. She set it down on the table, bobbed a curtsey, smiled a strange little smile, and then left the room. Moments later, John entered the room, looking a little flushed, and beaming the most ecstatic smile.

‘Mother,’ he began, his voice overflowing with mirth, ‘we have a visitor.’

Mrs Thornton nodded, laid her embroidery to one side, and moved arrange the tea things.

‘John,’ she said, her voice as cool as she could possibly muster, ‘where on earth have you been? I was starting to worry.’

John laughed and strode across to his mother, laying his hand on her shoulders and kissing her head affectionately.

‘Never mind all that!’ he said jovially, ‘now prepare yourself; I have the best news to tell you!’ And with that he crossed the room and stepped out of the door.

Mrs Thornton looked at her son’s retreating back with bemusement. Had he finally gone mad with the pressure? Really, he was acting very strangely, almost like a little boy at the circus.

‘John?’ she called, her voice a mixture of concern, interest and confusion.

At that moment her son returned to the room, to her surprise, and irritation, arm in arm with Miss Hale. Was this his idea of ‘the best news?’ Clearly he had gone mad.

‘Miss Hale,’ she said, her voice returning to its usual cold emotionless tone. ‘I did not think to see you again, I thought you would be gone by now.’

Margaret thought she detected something in her tone which quite plainly stated that not only had she thought it, she had also wished it.

‘Mother,’ said John, grasping Margaret’s arm tightly with his and pulling her instinctively closer to him. ‘Miss Hale has kindly agreed to be my wife.’ He turned and gazed adoringly into her eyes, smiling broadly, but his attention was immediately recalled by the sound of breaking china. He looked up to discover his mother, in her shock, had dropped the tea-cup she was busying herself with, and had spilled its contents over her skirts. He stepped over to her and immediately began to assist in picking up the pieces, while his mother dabbed furiously at her dress.

‘Margaret,’ said John, ‘would you be so kind as to ring the bell for a servant?’

She nodded and crossed the room to the bell by the mantelpiece. As she crossed behind Mrs Thornton she felt sure she had heard her muttering some form of curse under her breath. While once this might have shocked her, her time in Milton had hardened her to cussing and vulgar language. The comic nature of such words escaping the lips of a woman like Mrs Thornton was not lost on her and she smiled softly and rang the bell, before crossing back and taking a seat in one of the chairs.

John took his mother by the arm and led her over to the sofa, sitting beside her and taking her hands in his.

‘Now mother, are you ok?’ he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

‘Yes, yes,’ she began, her voice rather sterner than she had intended. ‘Although I am more than a little shocked.’ She glanced over towards Margaret, who was sitting opposite, staring alternately at John, and then at the floor, uncertain of what to do or say.

‘Mother, I am sorry.’ He began, rubbing her hands slowly within his. ‘Perhaps I ought to explain more thoroughly.’

He stood up and crossed over to where Margaret was sat, taking her hand and giving her a reassuring smile.

‘It seemed Miss Hale travelled to Milton this morning to meet with me on a matter of business, but as I was not home, she was unable to carry out her plan.’

‘This much I already know John, I myself met with Miss Hale this morning to inform her of your absence,’ she eyed Margaret suspiciously, ‘though not of your whereabouts, as I myself was ignorant of them.’

A guilty expression passed across John’s face, and for a moment he paused and looked at his shoes. Margaret suppressed another smile, and thought to herself how small and little-boyish he looked at that moment. She half expected him to mutter ‘Sorry Mother’ and scuttle away, but instead he lifted his head and continued.

‘By some curious twist of fate, Miss Hale and I happened to meet at Midland Central station. She was catching the return train to London, and I was returning north from,’ he paused and blushed, ‘from where I had been. We happened to meet, and she put to me the most generous proposition.’

Once again he rose and crossed over to his mother, running his hand through his hair in a mixture of excitement and agitation.

‘Mother, Margaret has offered me her fortune, a sum of around fifteen thousand pounds, so that I might continue to run the mills. Is that not the best news? We will not have to leave, we can go on as before!’

Mrs Thornton let out a small gasp and directed her steely gaze at Margaret.

‘Miss Hale,’ she began, ‘is this correct?’

Margaret nodded, glad to be included in the conversation, and spared the role of embarrassed spectator.

‘Mrs Thornton,’ she began, ‘you have often remarked that I knew nothing of Milton ways, or of business, for that matter. However, my time here was sufficient to teach me that there was no better businessman, or man, for that matter, than your son.’

John blushed, took her hand and raised it to his lips gratefully.

‘It is true that I was not aware of this at first, or at least, that I would not allow myself to acknowledge it, but I do now, and I wished to make amends for any wrongs I may have done him in the past. When I heard that the Mill was to close, you cannot imagine how I felt. That I, ignorant in all matters of business, was to benefit from a large fortune, and the possession of Marlborough Mills, while John, who had worked so very hard from such a young age, was to be forced to start again? It was too much to be borne. I could not rest until I had helped him by such means as I had in my reach, and as John is such a reliable and respectable tenant, it seemed prudent to me to aid him in upholding the tenancy, rather than to take risks in securing another of an unknown character.’

Mrs Thornton’s face softened a little at this speech. Clearly, whatever faults Margaret Hale had, she was no longer insensible to the charms of her son, and that was an indication of sense and taste in her eyes.

‘That was very noble of you, Miss Hale,’ she said, with the slightest hint of a smile. ‘But it does not explain how you now appear before me engaged. You may be ignorant in matters of business, but I am not, and I can assure you that engagement, to my knowledge, is not a prerequisite for such business transactions.’

‘Mother, please!’ cried John, his cheeks aflame. ‘Margaret’s offer was purely a business concern, it was I who, that is, I…’ he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

Mrs Thornton looked at her son, the colour of his cheeks rising by the moment and his eyes darting awkwardly about him, and laughed heartily.

‘Well,’ she said, her eyes shining with mirth, ‘I can see how it was! I hope you will both be very happy,’ and turning to Margaret she said ‘Miss Hale, I can only hope that I have misjudged you. You and I have not always seen eye to eye in the past, but I hope we can put that behind us and start anew, for John’s sake, if nothing else.’

Margaret smiled, and much to the older woman’s surprise, leant forward and kisses her on the cheek.

‘I should like that very much, Mrs Thornton. I know John loves you very dearly, and I would do anything to ensure his happiness.’

‘Very well; now if you will both excuse me, if we are not to leave, I have very many things to set in order. I must re-employ the servants for a start, for it seems that since you brought in the tea the last of them must have left, as no one has answered the bell to clean up this mess,’ she said, indicating towards the shattered tea-cup.

At that point, Jane entered the room, looking as nonchalant as possible, and proceeded to clear the remains of the cup from the floor. Mrs Thornton cast John a meaningful glance, and then walked from the room, leaving the two of them alone again.

John waited for Jane to leave and closed the door behind her before approaching Margaret, encircling her with his arms and kissing her tenderly on her mouth.

‘Well, my dear, that did not go so badly after all.’

‘No indeed,’ said Margaret, ‘Only one teacup broken, and even then, not aimed at my head! All together much better than I had expected.’

John gave her a little squeeze for her impudence, and kissed her once again.

‘And now we will be saved the trouble of informing the general public of our engagement. It will soon be the tittle-tattle of all Milton I dare say.’

‘Why John? Is your mother so little to be trusted with our private affairs?’ she asked innocently.

‘Little minx!’ he declared, spinning her around in his arms. ‘My mother is the very model of propriety! But surely you must have noticed Jane, the serving girl? That was the air of someone who had been listening at doors, if I am not very much mistaken.’

‘John Thornton,’ said Margaret in a teasing tone, ‘it sounds to me as if you are one practiced in the art of eavesdropping, since you know all its symptoms so well!’

She obtained a loud harrumph and a pinch on the ear for that last comment, but he continued to smile and held her tight in his arms.

‘Now, if all Milton is to be informed of our situation, I think I ought to do some informing of my own. No doubt Henry has arrived in London by now, and is probably relating the tale of my undoing by a rough Milton manufacturer to my entire family. I shall have to write to them direct, else they will be mounting a rescue party to come and liberate me from your grimy clutches.’

John laughed at this, held her tighter and kissed her passionately, until she was quite breathless and dizzy.

‘They will have to send a large party, my love’ whispered he softly in her ear, ‘my ‘grimy clutches’ are fairly strong, more than a match for a soft London lawyer, and I will not be letting you go without a fight.’

Margaret’s head spun with his closeness. She inhaled deeply, taking in his smell, a spicy musk, mingling with undertones of machine oil, and the dry, tickly scent of the cotton fibres. There was something delicious in being with him thus which made her forget herself. All sense of propriety seemed to quit her, and her only consideration was of him, and of devoting herself entirely to his satisfaction and pleasure. Her lips tingled from his kisses, and each brush of his fingers sent shocks through her skin down to her very core, causing something within her belly to contract and squirm. She lifted her lids to meet his gaze, and as their eyes met the very atmosphere in the room seemed to be charged with a sort of prickling energy. They stood for some moments in this aspect, their breath coming fast and low, before a noise coming from without the room startled her back into consciousness. She started and tore herself immediately from his arms blushing furiously.

‘Have you some paper?’ she began, in a weak trembling voice, ‘I have need to write to my Aunt.’

John looked at her for the briefest moments, his face a mask of mingled confusion, disappointment and something which appeared to be akin to embarrassment, before answering in the affirmative. He crossed over to a bureau at the far end of the room, drew out several sheets, ink and quill, and placed them before her. Seeing that she was happily settled thus, he then mumbled something almost inaudible about having business to attend to, and taking out a large ledger, and a bundle of papers, he arranged his own quill and ink at the farthest end of the room and threw himself into a chair in front of them.

Margaret winced a little at this abrupt change of humour. Perhaps she had been a little too forward? There was an intensity in her reaction to him which had frightened her, perhaps he had sensed it too and was offended by her lack of propriety. She must try and reign in her emotions – she had already risked much by her forwardness at the station and was lucky in her gamble, she ought not to risk further lest she frighten him away entirely. Instead she attempted to push the feelings of the last few moments from her mind, and composing herself thus, she picked up her quill and began to write.

My Dear Edith,

By now I am sure Henry has returned from the station bringing you the news of my departure. I am sorry, my dear cousin, to have left you all in this manner. I feel certain that Aunt Shaw will think me entirely lost to myself at this point, though I can assure you I am not. I shall write to her momentarily, but for now my dear Edith I must enlighten you regarding the nature of the madness which has seized me! No doubt you all think this rather sudden, and in some ways I am sure it is, but for me it seems the most natural thing in the world. Oh Edith, I am sorry that I did not inform you of my feelings earlier, but I am ashamed to confess I was too proud to own them. Now I feel certain that were I totally honest, I would say I have been in love with Mr Thornton from very early on in our acquaintance. And now, my dear, dear cousin, I have the happy prospect of becoming his wife! I cannot begin to express my raptures, they are boundless. Be assured that he is a good man, nay! a great man, the most noble, generous and gentle creature of his sex that ever lived, and I shall be happy, happier than perhaps I have the capacity to imagine. We are to remain in Milton, that is certain. John has much to do with the re-establishment of the Mills, and I could not ask him to abandon them, even for the briefest of periods, but perhaps my dear friend, I might be permitted to visit in the near future, to consult you on the small matter of my wedding attire? You know you have the very best taste in such matters, and I none.

And now I feel I must close. Forgive me, my dear, for such a short missive on so momentous an occasion, but my head swims yet, and I cannot do justice to the topic in my current state, I must write to my aunt, and shall save this conversation until a later date when I am better equipped to do it justice. I shall write to you with the date and time, and all the particulars as soon as they be settled.

Your loving cousin,

Margaret.

To her aunt Shaw Margaret penned a more formal and apologetic letter, stating her intentions and apologising for any discomfort she may have given them in her sudden departure. She had an inclination to appeal to John to add a paragraph of his own, reassuring her aunt of his intentions, but when she observed the manner in which he scowled at the work set before him she thought better than to disturb him, and so folding and sealing her own letters, she rose softly and informed him she was going to post them so that they might arrive at the next possible opportunity. He offered a few words of concern at this proposal, regarding the lateness of the hour, and the closeness of dusk, but Margaret declared that the walk would do her good after a day spent journeying up and down the country on trains, and expressing a wish to view some of her old Milton haunts she smiled and left the room.

As soon as she was gone John flung his quill from his hands and rested his head on the table. In his minds eye he played again and again the look of shock and discomfort on her face as they had pulled away from each other. Stupid, gross idiot that he was! He had taken her encouragement at the station too far, that was clear – he must control himself, or else he would frighten her away entirely. Unable to concentrate on his work, he stood up and began to pace the room, hovering at the window at regular intervals, hoping to catch a glimpse of her figure as she returned to the mill – even when she couldn’t be expected back for some time yet.

It was in this state that his mother found him some time later, when she returned from making her arrangements about the house.

‘I have seen that the cook prepares something suitable for supper tonight, in way of celebration,’ she began, sitting herself in an armchair and taking up her embroidery once again.

He gave a low grunt by way of answer, and continued to peer out of the window.

‘Has Miss Hale gone somewhere?’ she asked, noticing his agitation.

‘She has gone to send word to her relatives in London, I believe,’ he answered in a subdued tone.

Mrs Thornton watched him from beneath her lowered lids, as he took up his pacing again, crossing the room several times before returning to the window to take up look out again.

‘Now John,’ said she somewhat sternly, ‘there is no call to be fretting about Miss Hale because she has gone to post a letter. You forget she spend a year gallivanting round Milton without your protection, and no harm befell her.’ There was a slight note of distaste in his Mother’s voice, which suggested she alluded to Margaret’s visit to the station with her brother. He had not mentioned his new information to his mother, and so she still laboured under the impression that it had been some other man she had been with, though what she imagined had become of this man he was not sure. Instead he chose to ignore this remark, and continued to pace moodily, eventually throwing himself into an armchair and taking up a paper, which he proceeded to stare at gloomily, taking in neither article nor advert in the process.

Eventually, seeking to distract her son from his pining, Mrs Thornton took up the subject of the wedding, and of the Mill.

‘You ought to write to the banker, John,’ she began, ‘the transfer of money ought to be completed as soon as possible that we might get the Mill up and running again. And there is the matter of the wedding too – that ought to be sooner rather than later. It will not do to have her living here unwed too long, after all, and your marriage will secure everything. You will no longer be a tenant then John, but a master in your own right!’

‘Of course mother,’ he said softly, ‘I am as anxious as you are for everything to be done properly. I shall consult the banker in the morning, to arrange a sum to be transferred so that I might start work immediately, and the rest can be transferred upon our marriage. You are right, of course, the sooner the better.’

Little did he know that as they spoke these words Margaret herself was standing behind the door to the room. Her heart fell as she heard his words, spoken in such a stony tone. Perhaps they would have been of little consequence to her, had she not overheard another conversation on a similar theme as she returned from posting her letter.

She had decided to take a back route on her return to the Mills, passing up the steps a steep narrow flight of steps lined on either side by small workers cottages and workshops for cloth dying. As she had mounted the steps she noticed Jane, the Thornton’s serving girl stood to one side in close conversation with another young girl. ‘Ah!’ Thought she, there is not closing Milton’s greatest mill, the Rumour Mill, whatever the state of the market might be. She smiled to herself and walked on, her chest puffing out with pride that she might be known among the workers and ‘her that is to marry the master’, but her heart dropped like a rock at the words she caught as she passed, unnoticed by Jane, who was too busy in her role as gossip monger to take any heed of passers by.

‘Aye,’ the girl said. ‘She’s up at t’house now. They’re to be married. Master’s no fool that’s to be sure. Soon as ‘e seed she’d got herself a fortune up ‘e goes an’ marries ‘er. ‘E’ll want for nowt now, that’s for sure. Master of his own ‘ouse, ‘is own landlord. Likely they’ll be married soon as may be so ‘e can get on with spendin’ t’money as ‘e likes.’

Her breath caught in her throat and she tried in vain to force herself not to listen, but it was too late. ‘Could it be?’ she thought. Perhaps that was why he had had such a change in opinion since he last saw her and had seemed to have forgotten entirely the hideous disgrace which had so repelled him previously? Perhaps that was why he wore that odd, painful expression when they embraced? Surely not! Had she not seen love in his eyes when they had met again at the station? He had seemed pleased, more than pleased to see her. He had been to Helstone! Yet, perhaps he was seeking her out for reasons other than herself? Perhaps the love she had seen was not love at all, but relief, overwhelming relief at having been spared the degradation and poverty which confronted him?

It was with a heavy heart that she arrived back at Marlborough Mills and climbed the stairs to the drawing room. And then, as she held her hand out to push open the door, to hear those words from his lips! It was enough to make her cry out in pain. Her heart felt torn in two. Yet still she would not allow hope to quit her entirely. ‘I have heard only part of the conversation,’ she reasoned, ‘and so I cannot rightly guess at its meaning. I will wait, and see how he looks on my return. I will let his eyes be my judge, and see what sentence they cast for me.’

With that thought, she composed herself, and entered the room as serenely as was possible.

John’s heart leapt up at the sight of her entering. He wanted to rush to her and envelop her in his embrace. It was strange, after so many months of separation, thinking that she cared nothing for him at all, that the space of not more than an hour could be unendurable. But he would not allow himself to indulge his emotions. He would not overwhelm her. Instead he dropped his eyes to the floor, making every effort not to follow her with his gaze (unnecessary as it was, he knew exactly where she was without even looking).

Margaret saw it immediately. Her heart fluttered, throbbed, and then, it seemed, stopped altogether. She felt numb. It must be true. He did not love her, it was for the sake of the mill that he was marrying her. ‘Very well,’ she thought. ‘I deserve this for my treatment of him previously. Still, I have made my promises, and I must and will endure. It will be better to be his wife, and be with and near him, where I have a chance of aiding him, and perhaps, restoring myself to some level in his affections, than to be cast away from him all together.’ She sat down in a chair, hardly conscious of her movements, struggling to keep down the tears which were even now threatening to spill from her eyelids. It was a relief when the servant entered to inform them that supper was prepared. The act of eating, though she did very little of it despite a gnawing hunger in her stomach, served to distract her attention momentarily, and marked the end of the day, and the point where she might retire to her room and give free vent to her emotions.

As soon as the supper things were cleared Margaret rose, and in a small voice, asked if she might be shown her chamber, as the days travelling had made her very tired. John immediately rose and offered to escort her, taking her arm in his and guiding her towards a large chamber at the end of the house. As they walked, he kept his eyes on the floor, lifting them often, but rapidly, to her face, and upon viewing the sad, withdrawn etched therein, dropping them again in ever increasing gloom.

When they reached the door of the chamber he stopped, opened it, and guided her in, standing in the threshold, unsure of whether or not he should enter. His mother had done well, this was one of the grandest rooms in the house, save perhaps, her own and John’s. Margaret noted it, and made some small polite comment on its beauty, she hardly new what.

John nodded his ascent and for a moment they both stood in utter silence.

‘My room is at the other end of the house,’ he said at length, whether for something to say, or because he wanted to re-assure her that no impropriety of any sort would occur while she was under his roof.

Margaret nodded and smiled weakly. ‘I will wish you good night now Mr Thornton,’ she said slowly. ‘I am very tired. Please, thank your mother for her great hospitality.’

John bowed, and then, catching himself doing so, cursed himself for an ass. Surely he did not need to bow to his own fiancée? But what should he do? A kiss, or an embrace? Either could prove far too forward. His mind reeled as he sought in vain for a proper reaction, and then, habit taking over where intellect would not provide an answer, he stuck out his hand.

Margaret saw this and her face fell. The handshake, the common form of greeting between business partners, but lovers? Surely not. Unable to contain herself any longer she took and few hasty steps backward and closed the door, bursting into loud, uncontrollable tears. On the other side of the door John stood, his face ashy white, listening to each racking cry and feeling each convulsive sob as a hammer blow on his heart.


	3. Chapter Three

John stood on the other side of the door, his jaw, somewhat slack, his eyes, shining and wild, fixed on the spot where moments previously her face had been. From the room behind he heard her deep incontrollable sobs, and with each one he cursed himself a little more. Stupid, insensitive block! Why could he not control himself further? He had offended her, that much was clear, and now she must be regretting her decision to return with him. His hand hovered at the door, unsure whether to knock, and all the while desperately trying to restrain the urge he had to burst in and fling himself at her feet to and beg her forgiveness. No, if he was not to scare her off outright he would leave her be and attempt to talk to her tomorrow. Then he would beg her forgiveness, now he would give her the space she craves.

He returned to the sitting room and poured himself a large glass of wine, swallowing it in almost one mouthful. He paced the room momentarily, picking up a book at one end, opening the pages and then flinging it down by the time he had reached the other. He contemplated setting about some work and distracting himself with preparations for the re-opening of the mill, but even that too was now too closely associated with her, her money and her property. He continued to pace, and after almost an hour spent occupied in this listless fashion he retired to his room, extinguished the candles and threw himself onto his bed fully clothed But sleep kept from him, and when dawn broke he arose, pale and red-eyed, washed himself numbly and left the house for the mill.

Margaret rose some hours later. After many hours of crying she had finally succumbed to a sort of fitful sleep, though now, as she viewed her reflection in the mirror and attempted to arrange her hair, she could not help feeling that she looked non the better for it. She wished she might stay in her room all day, she felt little up to facing the critical eye of Mrs Thornton, but worse than that was the prospect of facing John. She felt certain that he no longer cared for her, and that his proposal had been influenced by a desire to protect his business, but painful as it was, that was not what troubled her. After all, it was not unusual for a man to propose under such temptations, Mr Thornton was a sound business man, and she would hardly expect him to pass over such an offer, especially one thrown in his way in such a manner. It is even possible that his proposal had been influenced by a desire to protect her propriety after her behaviour at the train station, such considerateness was like him. But what troubled her most was the way in which she had behaved as a result of it. As she recollected her behaviour on the train her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. It was hardly the conduct of a well brought up young lady, to throw herself on his mercy like that – hardly giving him the choice as to whether she should return with him or not, and then to act has she had last night, in the drawing room! She was mortified at the very thought of it. And, as if that was not enough on its own, she capped it all off by such a ridiculous display of tears, in front of his very face, all because of a handshake! She would not be surprised if he didn’t hate her outright before their wedding was even planned, and come to repent it, even at the cost of his mill!

Mrs Thornton was taking breakfast when Margaret arrived downstairs. She raised her eyebrows a little at her dishevelled appearance, and hoped she had not been making herself silly over leaving her family and settling down in the North, John would look after her as well, if not better, than any of her fine relatives in London, of that she was sure.

‘John is out on business about the mill,’ she began as Margaret sat down and forced herself to take some tea. ‘He left quite early this morning, I did not see him myself, though I am not a late riser,’ (said, be it noted, with a tone of slight disapproval at Margaret’s hour of rising), ‘I expect he is anxious to make the appropriate visits and set about the process of re-opening the mills. I must say, he has seemed quite forlorn these past few days after the closure. Yesterday it seemed as though he had returned to his old self, the opening of the mills restores his sense of purpose. The mill is my son’s life, Miss Hale.’

‘I dare say it is,’ thought Margaret bitterly, outwardly she said nothing.

Mrs Thornton looked at her future daughter in law with a slight grimace. It was evident she was not pleased about John’s absence from breakfast. ‘Well,’ she thought, ‘she will just have to get used to it. John is often up and out before the more idle among us have quitted their beds. And though it is generally known you were not impressed with the mill when you were last among Milton folk, now you must learn to plan your life around it, if you are to have any sort of future at all with my son.’

‘I believe he will return by mid-day,’ she continued, rising from the table, ‘he left some instructions with cook which indicated thus. Now, Miss Hale, if you will excuse me, while the running of the household is still my concern, I have duties to tend to.’ And with that, she quit the room, leaving Margaret staring miserably into her tea-cup.

The hours between breakfast and luncheon passed slowly and laboriously for Margaret. She neither saw nor heard anything of Mrs Thornton after their brief interview at breakfast, she was busily engaged in some other part of the house, and could spare no time to entertain her future daughter in law. Instead, Margaret was left to take her amusement from the scanty supply of reading material available to her, a poor selection indeed compared to her father’s library. On the side lay a heavy, ornate bible, while on the table were a selection of newspapers, but besides that the room was bare, and although she normally tried to take interest in the political to-ings and fro-ings of the country (Edith had often mocked her in London for insisting on reading the paper, claiming that they were dull, and fit for only the male brain to consume), today she was in no mind for such things, and so she eventually fell to amusing herself by absent-mindedly running her eye over the paintings and stencils which adorned the room. Such un stimulating entertainment, coupled with a poor nights sleep soon left her drowsy, and so when John returned from his mornings activities he found her sleeping peacefully in an armchair, and, not wishing to disturb her, passed quietly upstairs to wash himself after a long walk in the grimy Milton air, before going to see about having luncheon served.

Thus it was that when Margaret was roused by the servant to inform her that the meal was prepared she found John already seated at the table, absorbed in a newspaper.

On hearing her approach he looked up over its top and smiled politely. ‘I trust you slept well?’ he asked, though he fancied that from the dull look in her eyes, and from her disturbed state the night previously, the answer was a negative.

‘Quite well, thank you, sir,’ was her mild reply.

John flinched at the coldness of her answer. Clearly his boldness had not yet been forgotten. Still, once the meal was over and his mother returned to her daily duties – duties, by-the-by, which he had diligently devised for her, the re-dressing of one of the master bedrooms for the use of his new bride – he would speak with her and see if she could not be persuaded to forgive him.

At this point the servant returned to the room, and walking up to John, said in a low voice, ‘If you please sir, there is a man below to see you. I had told him to be off, as you were busy, but he says it is urgent business and that he must speak with you immediately.’

John scowled, but rose, and folding his paper said, ‘Very well, I shall be down directly.’ Then turning to Margaret and his mother he said ‘excuse me’ and left the room.

He had been gone only give minutes when he returned into the room, thrusting the door before him with what could almost be described as violence, his brow knitted tight with some sort of concern. He strode over to the chair where he had laid his hat and coat, throwing the hat aside and quickly thrusting his arms into the sleeves of the other. ‘You must excuse me,’ he said, his voice tight and strange. ‘There is some urgent business which I must…’ he trailed off, glancing about the room as if he did not quite know what to do with himself, then, stopping, as if suddenly recollecting himself, he left the room almost at a run, and could be heard clattering down the stairs and out of the door.

Mrs Thornton raised her eyebrows at her son’s behaviour, but said nothing. She was used to business calling him away from home at all sort of inconvenient hours, and although the manner of his departure was strange, she was sure he would provide a full explanation when he was next at leisure. Margaret, however, was less easy. There was something odd in his way of behaving, as if he had seen or heard something which disturbed him and it weighed heavy on her mind, so that she was unable to finish her meal and sat quite listless for some hours since.

The explanation for John’s behaviour was, however, quite simple. The man who had requested his presence was the overseer from Hamper’s Mill. He stood in the hallway to the house, the door still wide open, wringing his hat in his hand awaiting Mr Thornton’s arrival.

‘Well man! What is it?’ barked Thornton, somewhat irritably. He had wanted to spend time with Margaret, and did not appreciate this interruption.

‘If you please, sir,’ said the wretched man, his voice trembling with some sort of emotion, though Thornton was, of yet, unable to recognise it. ‘I don’t like to disturb ‘ye, but there’s a fire up at Hampers mill, and the master sent me out to round up all those I could. I’ve done my best sir, but, if you’ll forgive me, I thought a man like you might be needed sir. Folks is always saying you’ve a clear head, and is as good as any man in a crisis.’

‘Good god!’ he cried, starting where he stood. ‘Is it bad? Are there many inside?’ he glanced up over his shoulder towards the rooms above.

‘A great many sir.’ Said the man, his voice almost cracking with fear, ‘I was in the yard sir, overseeing the unloading of a new batch of cotton when it went up sir, and was able to get away, but there’s as many as wasn’t. It’s taken so fast sir, I don’t know what is to be done!’

‘Wait there,’ he said, turning back into the house, ‘I will be with you directly,’ and he shot up into the house to retrieve his coat.

Within moments he had returned, and motioning for the poor man to follow him, he left the house and crossed the mill yard, hailing a cab directly outside the gates. While the cab sped along the streets of Milton his mind raced terribly. Not three years earlier he had witnessed a similar event, the entire mill going up in no more than twenty minutes. By the time the blaze was put out more than 300 men, women and children laid dead on the side of the moor. But Hamper’s was a larger mill, and in the heart of Milton itself. If the blaze was not controlled quickly then more than the mill would be burnt. Thornton clenched and unclenched his fists. The thought of such senseless loss filled him with rage. He was still angry with himself for his behaviour last time. He had been so stunned, so distraught by the sight of the fire and the sounds of the screams from within, that he had been unable to stir himself to do anything, this time, he was determined it would be different.

The cab arrived at the scene quickly, and he threw himself from it, thrusting a note into the driver’s hand, unsure of how much he had actually just paid the man. All about him was mayhem. The ground was strewn with casualties, men, women and children, many with hideous burns, all gasping for breath, coughing and spluttering. Meanwhile men ran all about with buckets, throwing water on different parts of the fire, unsure of what to do, or where to start.

Immediately Thornton sprang into action.

‘You there!’ he bellowed at a man passing by, bucket in hand, seemingly unsure of where he was or what he was doing. ‘Where are you going with that bucket?’

The man stopped and stared at him blankly, raising a trembling arm and pointing the inferno in front of him.

‘Take it, and douse the fire at the edges, we must stop it from spreading’ he said, pointing the man in the direction of the periphery of the blaze. ‘And you there!’ he cried, calling the attention of a number of other who stood about, stupefied by the horror of the situation. ‘Spread the word. We must tackle it at its edges, and prevent it going any further. There is no hope for the main buildings now – better to let them burn out than to waste energies trying to douse them!’

All about him, men, roused by his cries, began to order themselves into groups and began to dispatch themselves to the edges of the buildings, forming long chains from the fire pumps and throwing buckets of water onto the stray windblown flames which sprang up all about.

Next he set about determining how many people were left in danger from the flames. Looking up at the inferno which now engulfed the main building, he knew it was useless to attempt to remove anyone from within. Those that were left inside were either already roasted alive, or had succumbed to the smoke, but in the buildings all around people were running in and out, rescuing possessions and piling them all around. He gathered up a group of men and set them about checking that all the remaining buildings were evacuated, urging them to leave whatever possessions were inside behind and take themselves to safety at once.

A number of women stood around, wailing and shrieking with grief and as he marched past, ushering a group of men towards the nearest bucket chain, one of them approached him and clung on to his coat tails.

‘Sir,’ she cried, ‘for pities sake, what shall we do? We cannut heft the buckets, else god knows we would, but we mun do something, else we will go mad with the watching.’

Thornton frowned for a moment, and then noting the rough coarse woven aprons the women all wore, he suggested they took them off, went to the pumps and soaked them thoroughly, and then used them to drip water into the mouths of the wounded that lay thereabouts on the grass, gasping and spluttering with the smoke.

The woman thanked him, and gathering up her fellow workers, made off to do so immediately, while Thornton himself crossed over to one of the chains, where a poor weak looking fellow manned the pumps. ‘Go, get away and rest yourself’ he said to the man, who was clearly overcome by the smoke himself, ‘I shall take care of this myself.’ He threw off his jacket, wondering why he had even felt it necessary to collect it before he left, and tore away his cravat, before setting to work on the pump with every ounce of strength he had within him. At one point he glanced over his shoulder, and was sure he caught sight of Hamper, and a number of the other mill owners standing at a distance, watching the blaze, but he shook his head and turned his attention back to the job in hand.

He had been at the pump some time when another man came towards him with a flask in his hand and offered it up to him. ‘Here lad,’ he said, ‘take this and rest, you’ve done more than your fare share already,’ and he pushed the flask towards him. John put up his hand to wave him off, but the man took it firmly, placed the flask within it, and pulled him away from the pump. ‘You take that and go rest yourself over there now,’ he said determinedly, and with that he turned to the pump and began to work it himself.

John sighed and turned away. He had to admit that his energy was beginning to fail him, but he did not want to leave his post until he was certain that the fire was out, and that everyone was safe that could be made so. He stood back and leaned himself against a building opposite, starting across the mill yard as men continued to run too and fro with buckets, shouting instructions and yelling encouragement at each other. He took a swig from the flask. It was some sort of liquor, though he knew not what, something cheap from the gin-shop he suspected, but it warmed his heart and sent a tingle through his limbs that he was glad of.

As he stood in this manner he felt someone approach him at his shoulder and turned to look at them, it was Hamper himself.

‘May I?’ he said, taking the flask from Thornton’s hand and swigging deeply from it. ‘I am ruined,’ he said, slowly, watching his factory burn with and expression of disbelief. ‘I will never recover from this. Trade was already slow, and now to have to re-build and re-stock! We had half a dozen orders in hand! All will have to be let go. And where am I to find new workers to replace those who have died? Even if I could afford to re-build I shall have to start again with a bunch of incompetent fools and train them all from scratch!’ he swigged again and rubbed his face with his hands.

Thornton turned with a look of disgust and snatched the bottle from his had.

‘Are your profits all you can think about when so many people lie dead or dying?’ he said, his voice, cold, flat and full of venom. ‘Businesses can be rebuilt. Be thankful you were not trapped inside when it went up, like some of those poor souls.’

He cast an eye over the building, and then strode away, passing the flask to another man, who lay exhausted on the ground near by.

At that point a cry went up nearby. Despite the best efforts of those with pumps and buckets, one of the nearby buildings had caught and was now beginning to blaze away itself. Thornton looked over to it and the breath caught in his throat. In a second story window a small boy, no older than six or seven, peered out of a window, his eyes large and wide with fear. On the ground below a large group of people huddled around a woman, who Thornton new immediately must be his mother, attempting to calm her and quiet her screaming.

‘Hush woman!’ said one standing nearby, ‘poor thing is afeared enough without you carryin’ on so! Hold your tongue now and see if you can’t persuade him to come down for there’s none of us who dare to go in there after him!’

He needed only a moment to consider it. The boy’s eyes told him that he would not be induced to move from his position by the window, and if he could not be then unless someone moved him forcibly all below would be bound to watch him slowly burn to death in front of their eyes. Immediately he strode towards the building, and shielding his eyes with his arm, edged his way through the door. As he did so he thought he heard a familiar voice cry ‘Thornton! Tek care man!’ but the smoke inside was so thick that even had he turned, he would not be able to see who uttered it. Instead, he stumbled towards the stairway, which was beginning to kindle itself, and made his way to the second story.

Upstairs the smoke was even thicker, and the air was hot and painful to breathe. He found the boy, his nose pressed up against a crack in the glass, desperately breathing in what fresh air he could glean from it. He took him in his arms and shielded his head against his chest, and then began to descend again. All around him red-hot pieces of debris were falling, scorching his skin, and singing his clothes. His eyes watered with the smoke, and his lungs struggled to take in air from the arid atmosphere. As he reached the bottom, he was unable to see the door, and for some moments he stood in one position, listening to the cries outside and trying to focus on the direction they came from. Finally, he got his bearings and lunged towards the doorway.

As soon as he emerged the fresh air hit him and his lungs expanded gratefully, causing him to double over in a fit of coughing. His head swam and a fierce sharp pain shot through his chest. The child’s mother came over, weeping for joy and swept the little boy up in her arms, carrying him off to find water to moisten his parched lips. The crowd then dispersed, following the mother, cooing and sighing in sympathy, leaving Thornton by himself, doubled over and fighting for breath. He watched their departing backs, seeing the mother clutch at her son protectively, while he buried his head in her shoulder and coughed and spluttered, and then his head swam once more, and his vision went black.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Margaret wandered the corridors of the Thornton household like an odd kind of spectre. She passed through doorways, hesitated on thresholds, let out low, trembling sighs and then passed away again and softly as she had entered. Had the general populace of Milton not held such a particular talent for gossip, thereby informing every servant and visitor within a fifty mile radius who might have any cause to call that day, that the master had brought a young lady back with him from his travels, then the servants would have been sure to think the place haunted. As it was, they hardly paid any attention to her at all – they were only too glad to find that their jobs were saved, work at Thornton’s paid well after all, be it in the Mill or in the House, and if that meant they were to put up with strange, wandering, sighing young women as part of their day-to-day then so be it.

By now John had been gone some two or three hours, and Margaret felt a strange sort of foreboding about it. Several times she had gone down stairs to inquire, of some body or another who could be found passing through the yard whether the master had returned to the mill yet, and always the reply was a negative. However, this time, as she passed through the front doors on her way to make perhaps her fourth or fifth enquiry, she happened upon the sight of two men stumbling through the mill gate. Both were grimy, covered in dirt, their clothes ragged and tattered. One, the older of the two, Margaret recognised immediately as her old friend Nicholas Higgins, and her heart leapt up at the sight of him. The other man appeared to be slumped across his shoulders, half walking, half being dragged along by his companion.

‘Nicholas!’ cried Margaret, lifting her skirts and running towards him joyfully.

Nicholas looked up at her, still staggering under the weight of the man slumped at the sides, and his eyes filled with tears.

‘Eh, Miss…’ he began, his voice faltering.

Margaret caught his looked and stopped dead in her tracks. She peered at the lifeless form slumped over her friends shoulder and her blood ran cold. At first she thought she was mistaken, his clothes were ripped and dirty, and he was wearing only a shirt and waistcoat, yet he had left in a cravat and coat, yet there was no mistaking it, it was John.

In an instant she was at his side, and taking one of his arms over her shoulder she hoisted his limp frame up, and looked toward Higgins.

‘Quickly,’ she said, ‘we must get him inside!’ and with that they began to march towards the steps of the house, dragging the limp form of Mr Thornton between them.

Higgins smiled to himself at her actions. Most women would have fainted dead on the spot, or at least wailed and shrieked. There was few who would even have the presence of mind to call another to aid him to carry him inside, but Miss Margaret was not the usual woman. No one, he thought, besides possibly Mrs Thornton herself, would have taken the task in hand like she did. She was certainly a different breed to those genteel women you usually saw to be wedded to the masters.

Between them Margaret and Higgins dragged John up and into the house. For a moment Margaret stood in the hallway panting with the effort. He ought to be taken to a room and laid down, and the doctor should be called for immediately, of that much she was sure, but beyond the day-rooms, and her own chamber she knew nothing of the layout of the house. For a fleeting moment she wondered if it was entirely proper to take him to her room, but the thought passed in an instant, and she directed Higgins to assist her in carrying him to it, and then dispatched him immediately for Doctor Donaldson. He nodded, and bolted from the house. Once he was gone, Margaret turned and looked at John properly for the first time.

As he was, laid out on the white sheets of her bed, he looked a terrifying prospect. His eyes were closed, and his lips were ashy white, but the rest of him was engrained with a deep sooty grime. His hair was coated in a fine dust, and his clothing was torn and burnt. On his forearms, where he had shielded himself from the flames and falling material, spots of blood seeped through onto the dirty cotton, and his hands seemed blistered and raw. One might be forgiven for thinking, still and pale and ragged as he was, that he was already dead, for he made no sound, nor moved a muscle. Indeed, only the slow, shallow movement of his chest betrayed that flesh and soul were yet as one.

A slow tear ran down Margaret’s cheek. She crossed over to her dressing table and took up her sponge, dipping it in the wash stand. Then she rang the bell for a servant and crossed back over to the bed. Using the sponge she dripped some water onto his pale lips, and waited for a response. The little droplets simply ran from them and onto his face, leaving a dirty trail in the soot on his jaw.

One of the serving girls entered, and on seeing her master laid out on the bed as if a corpse, she let out a high pitched wail.

‘Be quiet!’ said Margaret, her voice sounding small and weak in her own ears. She struggled to make herself sound calmer. ‘He is not dead; he is only in a stupor. The doctor has been sent for, but his mother…’ here she broke off, dreading the responsibility of telling the mother that her son, her only pride and joy, lay now at the very edge of life itself. She collected herself and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Please find your mistress and once. Inform her there has been an accident, and she must attend immediately. Thank you,’ with that she dismissed her, and returned to the bed, dipping the sponge once more and holding it over his lips.

‘John, my love,’ she whispered softly. ‘Can you hear me? Please, come back to me. Don’t leave me like this, when I have only just found you… Drink, dearest, please try.’

She placed a few more drops onto his mouth and watched intently. At first he remained still, then his mouth twitched, as if in a spasm. She squeezed the sponge a little more, and watched as his lips parted to receive the liquid. He was reviving! She lifted her eyes to heaven and began to thank god earnestly for sparing him, but her attention was soon arrested by her beloved, who shot upright in the bed, his eyes flying open, and began coughing violently. She held him gently in her arms while he struggled for breath, then, when the fit subsided, lay him back on the pillows. As she did so, she thought she saw him focus on her momentarily, and a small smile flickered over his lips, then his face relaxed again and he closed his eyes in what appeared to be an exhausted slumber.

At this point Mrs Thornton entered the room, her face almost as while as her son’s. Margaret rose, and guided the woman to a chair.

‘What?’ was all she was able to muster, her whole body shaking visibly from the shock.

‘I do not know,’ said Margaret slowly. ‘I was in such a hurry to have the doctor fetched that I’m afraid I forgot to ask. But I should guess given the soot, and the smell of smoke, that there has been a fire. Where, and how and why he became involved I am not sure. It is not at the mill, that is for certain, else I should have seen it.’

‘And how did he come to be here,’ she enquired, looking about her with glazed eyes, as if she was not sure herself of their setting.

‘Nicholas, that is, Mr Higgins brought him into the yard. I met them when I was going out to…’ she hesitated. ‘I did not know where else to bring him, so we carried him up here to lie him down. I sent Mr Higgins for the doctor, he should be here soon I think.’

Mrs Thornton nodded. ‘And has he said anything, has he moved?’

‘He has not spoken, but he did open his eyes a moment before you entered. I am not sure if he recognised me or not, it was only briefly, before he closed them again,’ she paused for a moment. ‘He did take some water, and I think he seems better now than he looked before. He looks more as if he were sleeping than if he were…’ her voice cracked and she was forced to be silent, choked by the tears which were now coursing their way down her cheeks. But she would not allow herself to wail or succumb to hysterics.

Then Mrs Thornton did something which, had her son opened his eyes at that moment, may have shocked him enough to send him on to the other world. She rose, crossed over to where her future daughter in law stood and embraced her tightly. The two women stood in that manner, absorbed in their mutual love and worry for the form lying on the bed beside them, until the arrival of the doctor was announced.

Immediately Mrs Thornton stepped away, rearranged her dress, and allowed her features to resume their usual firmness.

‘Miss Hale,’ she said calmly, ‘I am sure that you will understand if I ask you to step outside while the doctor examines my son. Perhaps you may take this gentleman,’ indicating towards Higgins who had returned with the doctor and was standing in the doorway ‘downstairs and provide him with some refreshments by way of thanks for his kindness. Unless, that is, the doctor wishes him to remain?’

‘No indeed,’ replied Doctor Donaldson, moving towards his patient. ‘Mr Higgins has been so kind as to relate to me the entire circumstances in the cab on the way over, and I think it would be advisable if he took some rest himself,’ he said peering over the top of his spectacles at Higgins, who was at that point, looking exhausted to the point of collapse himself.

Margaret nodded mutely, and casting a last look towards John, lying on the bed, she escorted Higgins downstairs and called for some tea.

‘Now,’ she said, once she had seen him seated in the sitting room, and had poured them both a cup to settle their nerves. ‘You must tell me everything. What on earth has happened?’

‘Well miss,’ said he, sipping the tea, and silently wishing for something a little stronger. ‘There’s been a fire up at Hampers Mill. Quite serious it was, who place is laid to waste I’d reckon, and a great number of good people killed too I don’t doubt.’

Margaret inhaled sharply and motioned to him to go on.

‘I didn’t see Thornton arrive, so I’m not sure how he came to be there, it not being his Mill and all, but I do know I saw him run inside a burning building and pull out a boy. M’appen there’s not many masters who’d do that Miss. Most of ‘em were standing by and watchin, as if it were some sort of display put on for their entertainment. Dare say Hamper looked sore enough, but then I expect he was thinking of his pockets and not the poor souls trapped inside. Still Thornton was in there gettin mucky with the rest of us, if not more, I’d say, for it’s not anyone who’d run in and save a body like that. I saw him again when he came out. Gave the boy to his mother and then just fell down he did. No one but me seemed to see him, so I thought I’d best bring him back here.

‘I’d heard you were back Miss,’ he said with a knowing smile. ‘Figured there were plenty of bodies to look after there already, an he might getting better care an attention back home with them that love him.’

‘Thank you Nicholas,’ said Margaret, taking his hand in hers. ‘And although I wish in weren’t in such terrible, terrible circumstances, it is so good to see you again,’ she smiled at him broadly, though the tears still flowed down her cheeks.

‘And you too Miss’ he replied with a smile. ‘I knew how it would be, soon as I told Master of the business with your brother – beggin your pardon for doing so, that is, I figured he might already have know, seein as he so obviously had interest, an you spoke so highly of him, I did not mean to reveal what was meant to be kept secret – but I knew how it would be when I telled him. A man with that sort of look on his face can only be thinkin of one thing, I reckon.’

‘My brother!’ she cried, squeezing his hand tightly. ‘He knows about Fred?’

‘Aye, that he does. Though I didn’t reckon on your turning up and offerin him your fortune too – a right fine pair you make!’

‘He knows,’ she said again, her voice a low whisper. ‘He knows.’

Higgins looked at her queerly and began to wonder if the pressure of the days proceedings hadn’t started to take its toll on her sanity. He decided it was probably best if he made himself scarce before he said something else seemingly inconsequential and reduced her to hysterics.

‘Well Miss,’ he said, standing up, ‘I’d best be heading back. My Mary will be setting to worrying about me if I don’t make myself seen soon, and there’s the little ‘uns to be fed too. I’ll call round again tomorrow if that’s permitted, to see how he’s getting on?’

‘Of course,’ said she, rising slowly and shaking his hand almost absent mindedly. ‘We will be happy to see you. Good day Nicholas, and thank you.’

She walked with him to the door, and as he passed to leave again she put her hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

‘And you are sure he knows? About Fred I mean?’ she asked shakily.

‘Quite certain Miss, told him myself as I said.’ he frowned and looked at her quizzically, but she simply took her hand from his shoulder, half smiled, and walked away from him, leaving him more than a little worried for her health, and half inclined to enquire tomorrow as to whether Miss Hale was quite recovered, rather than Mr Thornton himself.

Once he had left Margaret made to take herself to her room to be alone with her thoughts, but remembering how it was occupied, instead crossed into the drawing room and closed the door behind her. This done she collapsed into the nearest chair and started to cry bitterly.

‘Oh I have been so very, very stupid,’ she sobbed. ‘He knew, he knew all along! There was no change of heart at all, this explains it all, and I have been so cold! And now he lies upstairs almost dead! Oh stupid, vain cruelty! If I have lost him I deserve it for treating him thus!’ She allowed herself to weep a while longer, until a newer more invigorating thought crept into her head. ‘He loves me! He still loves me!’ At this she stopped crying and attempted to compose herself. She determined that should he live - and he would, she would nurse him herself, night and day, if it was required, only he must not die - then she would do everything in her power to make herself seem deserving of that love. With that thought she left to drawing room and made her way back to her own chamber to await the doctor’s report.

She did not have to wait long, as she met the doctor himself coming down the stairs.

‘What news?’ she said, her eyes sparkling dangerously.

‘He will be quite well,’ the doctor replied reassuringly. ‘There is nothing much the matter with him beyond exhaustion and smoke consumption. I suspect that he has been working himself far too hard these past few months, and this business with the fire has brought him to collapse. He is not to exert himself until he is fully rested. I have given him a draught to ease his breathing, and he is sleeping now, but I expect him to be awake and much recovered come the morning.’

Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. ‘And the burns?’ she asked timidly.

‘I have examined him thoroughly,’ came the answer, ‘and they are not extensive, nor do I think they will be disfiguring. He is really a most fortunate young man. I have dressed those which need attention, and will return in the next few days to check up on him. I wish you good day Miss.’

Margaret nodded, and continued up the stairs to her room, where she found Mrs Thornton, still tending her son. The mother looked up as she entered and smiled at her gently.

‘My son is a good man, Miss Hale, and a strong one. It will take more than a little incident like this to knock him.’

Margaret nodded. She knew it, and every day it seemed it was revealed to her just how good he was, she felt her heart would burst with love and pride for him.

He lay within her covers now. His face washed and all the dirt removed, and his tattered clothes exchanged for a clean cotton nightshirt.

‘Has he woken?’ she asked tentatively.

Mrs Thornton nodded in answer, and extinguished the candle. ‘I thought it best that he should remain here tonight. He is too exhausted to be moved. I will put you in another chamber for the time being.’ She motioned for Margaret to follow her and lead her to another room along the hall. She did not mention however, that the only words her son had managed to utter when he had awoken had been to ask after Margaret.

Margaret slept soundly that night, albeit from exhaustion rather than from any real peace of mind. The next day she rose early, and determined to undertake one or two important pieces of business on John’s behalf, made her way over to the mill. Some hours later, unaware of the strange change of roles that had somehow occurred overnight, John awoke and found himself in Margaret’s bed. The sheets had not been changed since she had slept there the night before, and he could still sense her lingering scent on the pillows as he awoke.

For a moment he lay, with a stupefied grin spreading across his face, breathing in the very closeness of her, before his thoughts caught up with reality and he shot upright, wondering how on earth it was he had got there. He looked about himself wildly. A fresh set of clothes were folded neatly on the chair beside him, and there was no sign of Margaret being in the room. The wild fear that he had somehow been overcome in his sense of propriety, and had committed some unspeakable act of passion passed, accompanied by a slight pang of disappointment. Then he looked down at his arm, noticed the bandages which it was swathed in, and felt the dry, rasping sensation in his throat.

‘Of course!’ he thought, ‘The fire!’ He vaguely recalled the last few moments at Hampers Mill before his head and begun to swim, then he had some recollection of speaking to his mother, and someone else, who, judging by the work on his arm, he presumed to be the good doctor. How he had ended up in Margaret’s room, of all the rooms in the house, was however, beyond him. He decided he would get up and investigate for himself.

He dressed himself slowly and tentatively. His body was still and sore from the previous day’s exertion. He found he had to give up on his cravat all together, his hands were still too sore and blistered, a result of a combination of the heat of the fire, and the abrasive motion required working the water pumps. So it was a slightly dishevelled looking John Thornton that left the room that day, little knowing how well he looked compared to when he had entered it some fifteen hours earlier.

He walked downstairs to the sitting room, where he found his mother engaged in embroidering the linens. He could not help but smile as he noticed the she had already unpicked her own and his father initials, and had begun to stitch his and Margaret’s into the corners.

She looked up and noticed him standing there smiling at him.

‘John! I did not think to see you out of bed so soon. Are you sure you are well enough to be up?’

‘I am quite well mother, thank you, though I find myself incapable of dressing myself today.’ He held out his cravat in one hand, and exhibited his bandages on the other, by way of explanation.

She stood up and took the article from him, passing it about his neck and tying it for him, as she had on the first day he had occasion to wear to work, just after the death of his father.

‘There,’ she said, ‘you look quite fine. You gave us all a fright yesterday.’ She returned to her embroidery, looking up at him from her seat.

‘I am sorry!’ he said, looking grave. ‘Where is Margaret? I hope she was not too disturbed by my appearance.’

Hannah Thornton’s heart fell slightly and this exhibition of concern for Margaret’s welfare over her own, but she rallied herself immediately. Whatever she had thought of the girl previously, she clearly loved her son, and had demonstrated herself as capable and steady in the face of events which would have made lesser women, she thought particularly of her own daughter Fanny at this point, swoon and faint.

‘Do not trouble yourself about her John,’ she said, smiling. ‘I have to admit, I was wrong about her. She has more mettle in her than many a girl her age, and older. She quite took the situation in hand, saw you up to a room, tended to you and called for the doctor.’

John’s cheeks flamed and a wave of passion swept over him. Had she really tended to him? Was it to her that he owed his comfort and safety following the horrors of yesterday’s events?

‘She will make you a fine wife John,’ conceded his mother.

‘Thank you, Mother,’ he said, struggling to conceal his emotion. ‘Where is she now? I ought to go and see her…’

Mrs Thornton smiled a strange indecipherable smile which her son had never seen her exhibit before. ‘I believe you will find her in the Mill,’ she answered bluntly.

John frowned and looked at his mother. ‘The Mill? Whatever can you mean Mother? Why on earth would Margaret be in the Mill?’

At that, his mother laughed. ‘She told me she had some business to attend to regarding  _ her property _ . I thought it best not to meddle.’

‘Her property? Whatever can you mean?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Perhaps you would do better asking her these questions John,’ his mother replied, focussing on her work. ‘I am only relating to you what she told me herself.’

‘Yes, thank you mother, I shall,’ he replied, his voice awash with confusion, and with that he quitted the room and crossed over to the Mill.

He found Margaret in conference with a number of people in the Mill office. Engaged as she was, he was able to watch her from a vantage point on the carding room floor, without being observed. There he saw her in conversation with several men, whom he recognised as being representatives of the various warehouses, draperies and milliners that the Mill had previously supplied their materials to. He also recognised a gentleman from the cotton suppliers in Liverpool he had previously employed, though he had no recollection of contacting any of them, or more specifically of having asked them to attend a meeting. Standing aside from these men, he also noted the figure of Nicholas Higgins.

He was tempted to walk into the room immediately as he had matters of business to settle with each and every one of them, but the novelty of the situation prevented him from moving. Clearly they were not immune to it either. Each of them gazed upon Margaret with an air of confusion mixed with amazement, he could not hear what she said, through the closed door, but he could see her gestures, and noted her pointing at a number of sheets of paper laid out on the table before her. Then, she crossed over to the door of the office and opened it, allowing him to hear more clearly what was being said.

It appeared that the meeting was now coming to a close. She held out her hand to the nearest of the gentlemen, and who then made motions to leave. For some reason Mr Thornton felt it was necessary to prevent himself from being seen, though he did not know why, and he hid behind some of the machinery.

‘Thank you all for coming at such short notice gentlemen,’ he heard her say. ‘And thank you for your faith in Marlborough Mills. I apologise once again that my - that is - Mr Thornton was not able to meet with you today, but as I explained, he has met with an accident which prevents him from exerting himself in business for a short period. However, we are both anxious that the Mills resume production as soon as possible, and your loyalty and trust will make this possible much sooner than I had hoped. As his landlord, of course, allow me to express thanks on his behalf, and reassure you that he will call upon you all as soon as he is well. Thank you.’

‘His landlord indeed!’ chuckled Thornton to himself, keeping himself from sight as the men filed past, muttering under their breath about the unusual novelty of a woman in cotton, but conceding that she seemed to know what she was talking about, at least.

Nicholas Higgins was last to leave, and Margaret had a few words more for him when he passed her.

‘Thank you again, Nicholas, for your help yesterday. I am sure he would be a lot worse if you had not found him when you did, and I dread to think what may have happened,’ the emotion in her voice sent a wave of pleasure over Thornton’s skin and he had to fight with himself to prevent himself from springing up from where he stood and embracing her. ‘His mother tells me he is much better already this morning, his breathing has returned to normal and he has his colour back. I have not seen him myself yet, but I will be sure to tell him of your good deed when I do!’

‘Now Miss,’ mumbled Higgins, ‘I’m not after glory. He’s a good man, and gave me a chance when all others would have cast me out. There’s not many a master who would treat the workers as he does, and that’s something coming from me you know! If there was anything else I could do to see him back on his feet as he did me, you know I would.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. ‘And if you could see to rounding up the men on the list I would be most grateful to you. Tell them Marlborough Mills re-opens. Tomorrow week, if my calculations are right.’

There was a ring of pride to her voice as she made that announcement, and Thornton’s heart swelled to hear it.

‘Goodbye Nicholas, and thank you again,’ she said, as he shuffled out of the building past where Thornton was hid. As he passed him, Thornton felt sure that he glanced over in his direction, and gave one of the carding machines a very queer wink.

Once he had left, Margaret returned to the office and absorbed herself in the study of a number of papers she had laid out on the desk before her. While she was thus engaged Thornton was able to creep up the stairs, and stood for some minutes in the doorway observing her before he found the voice to speak.

‘Tomorrow week?’ he said, his lips curling in a slight smile. ‘And might I ask when my landlord was going to inform me that I was to be sent back to work? Or was I not included in this grand scheme of hers?’

Margaret’s eyes flew up from the papers she was examining and she let out a loud gasp.

‘John!’ she cried, shooting up from her chair and running to him. She flung her arms about his neck and kissed him repeatedly. ‘I did not expect to see you up again so soon! Oh it is so good to hear your voice again. I thought…’ her lip trembled and she struggled to check the tears that were pricking behind her eyelids.

‘Well,’ he said, his heart pounding wildly at her reception. ‘I had not thought I would be missed so.’

‘I am sorry, so sorry.’ Margaret began, tears already flowing down her cheeks.

John took her shoulders and held her where he could look into her eyes.

‘Sorry? Whatever for? It is I who should apologise. My behaviour since you returned with me has been a little unguarded, but I did not mean to frighten or offend you.’ He looked at her seriously and tried to read her countenance.

Margaret laughed a little through her tears. ‘Apologise! No indeed. I am ashamed to confess how foolish I have been. But perhaps if you will permit me to explain, I think it will help you understand my behaviour to you recently, which has been, at best, erratic.’

‘Of course I will listen,’ he said, his voice full of softness and concern. ‘Go on.’

‘Before my father died you told me that your feelings for me where over,’ she began, placing her hand on his arm to prevent him from interrupting. ‘I did not blame you. I know what you must have thought that night you saw me at the station, and I wanted to tell you, but I could not.

‘When I left for London I felt sure I had lost you forever. I felt I deserved it. I abused you so abominably, to expect you still to love me after such behaviour was more than I felt I deserved, and it felt fitting that I should love you so deeply without any hope of return after I had wounded you so callously. Yet when I saw you at the station, and you seemed to love me again, I was delirious! In my happiness I did not stop to question the how, or the why your feelings had undergone such a transformation. I was simply gratified and flattered that I felt my own had been reciprocated, and overjoyed, so overjoyed just to see you and speak to you once more. It was only later, when I overheard some people talking in the street that I started to wonder.

‘Oh, John! I am so sorry, I doubted you. I thought it was my money! I did not see how you could love me after what I had done because I did not know that you knew about Fred – I thought that you hated me, and after my behaviour in the drawing room, I thought you would think me loose and unprincipled. I am so sorry, I did not know, I did not know,’ her voice broke, and she began to sob deeply.

‘Margaret,’ he said, his voice deep and trembling with passion. ‘Margaret! Please, do not trouble yourself so. I could not hate you. I tried, believe me, I tried to forget you, but I could not. I told myself I hated you when I saw you that night at the station, but I did not. Even then I did not think you capable of wrong. I only thought that you loved him, whoever he was, deeply enough to compromise your reputation for him, and it was that, thinking that you loved another, that wounded me. I was jealous and stung into saying such things. Please, do not dwell on them. We need never speak of them again. I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you.’

He stepped forwards and grasped her in a tight embrace, crushing her to his heart and holding her there, feeling it beat wildly against its cage with her closeness.

For a while they were silent, revelling in simply being close to each other, and breathing the same air. At length, Margaret spoke again, her voice shy and timid.

‘And in the drawing room? You did not mind? I thought you might be offended by the way I behaved…’

‘Offended!’ cried he. ‘My darling, be assured that offence was the last thing on my mind! Oh Margaret, if you only knew how you made me feel! I was not offended, I was flattered, overwhelmed to feel that you might feel the same way, that you wanted me as I wanted you…’

‘I did,’ said she, tremblingly, ‘I do.’

‘My own, sweet Margaret,’ he said. ‘I was only worried that I had gone too far, that I had startled you with my passion. I would do anything but displease you Margaret.’

Margaret sighed deeply and buried her head in his shoulder. ‘Oh John, I am not worthy,’ she said.

‘Not worthy!’ he cried in his deepest tone, ‘do not mock my own deep feeling of inferiority!’ And with that, he took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply, repeatedly with an increasing passion.

At length, the broke apart and stared into each others eyes.

‘Now, sir,’ said Margaret smiling. ‘You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be resting. No protest! Doctor’s orders, don’t you know. I have seen to the most pressing business at the Mill, the orders for cotton are put in, Higgins is rounding up the workers, and the warehouses have agreed to renew their contracts, so all that remains is for you to recover your strength in order to return to work tomorrow week.’

John smiled at her and laughed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it seems I am no longer needed! Perhaps I should retire to my bed on a permanent basis.’

‘And leave me with this dirty, smoky mill all to myself! I’ll thank you not to,’ she said playfully. ‘And besides, sir, remember who’s bed it was you commandeered last night! I should like to regain the use of it soon, if I may!’

‘Very well,’ said he looking at her with a strange intensity. ‘But not for long, I hope.’

Margaret frowned and looked at him questioningly.

‘Margaret,’ said he with a deep sigh, ‘say that we will not long have to go our separate ways every night? When will we marry - can it be soon?’

She smiled and took his arm, leading him from the office and out towards the house.

‘I would not have it otherwise,’ she said. ‘And now, you must get some rest, for I believe you will be in need of your strength these next few days.’

He raised his eyebrow quizzically and asked her ‘Why?’

In answer she pulled a note from her skirt pocket and exhibited it to him. ‘It is from my Aunt,’ she said by way of explanation, ‘she received news of our engagement and she intends to visit…’


	5. Chapter Five

Margaret broached the subject of her Aunt’s impending visit with Mrs Thornton over the mid-day meal. It was not without some reluctance that she accepted the offer of one of the guest rooms for her use during the visit. Since writing her letter she had given almost no thought to her family in London. Other, more pressing, matters. had occupied her mind, but now her thoughts turned to them more and more frequently, and with a sense of increasing dread. By now, she thought, Henry would almost certainly have informed her Aunt of her behaviour at the station, and though she did not regret a moment of it, she felt certain that this, coupled with her Aunt’s existing prejudice against Milton in general, would provide her with ample justification (in her mind at least) to ‘rescue’ her from the situation she now found herself in.

Indeed, when she thought upon it, she believed that she had been certain of her Aunt’s disapproval from the very beginning, and that this, in combination with the more immediate temptations of the moment, had been one of the factors in her uncharacteristic (or so she would like to believe) forwardness at the station. Had she insisted that they go about this engagement ‘properly’ and returned to London until she could be married from there, Margaret was absolutely certain that her Aunt would have persuaded, chastised and generally fussed until the wedding was put off indefinitely.

She looked across at John, who was struggling to use the highly polished cutlery with his bandage swathed hands, and sighed. Between the Mill offices and the dining room they had already determined that their wedding date should be set at four weeks time. That gave two weeks to prepare for the opening of the Mill, and then once that was established, a further two for the equally arduous task of preparing for the wedding.

Once again Margaret wished she could simply throw on her favourite dress and walk to the church as she chose, with no fuss, frills or any of the other trappings which came along with the event. But John had suggested that performing the ceremony in such as hushed and hurried way may well add weight to the already ferocious stream of gossip which surrounded her recent return to the town. As much as she did not want to, she admitted that he spoke sense, and privately she felt that as he was attempting to re-establish his name among the Milton manufacturers as a sound and steady businessman, a cheap, unshowy wedding, tempting as it was, was probably not the best method of demonstrating their solvency.

And besides, what would poor Fanny say if she did not get the opportunity to talk of the style of Miss Hale’s dress, or hair, or general manner, even if it was only to compare them in an unfavourable light to her own wedding day?

Thinking of Fanny, Margaret returned her attention to the room and once again addressed her Mother in law to be.

‘Mrs Thornton,’ she began, ‘I was wondering, have you communicated our news to Fanny?’

Mrs Thornton smiled. ‘I sent a note this morning explaining all. I hope you do not mind, but my daughter is given to hysterics, and as you know, rumour spreads fast in Milton.’

Margaret inclined her head by way of agreement and smiled slightly at John.

‘I did not wish her to believe that her brother had died in the fire, and so thought I had better inform her of the situation immediately. You may not perhaps know, Miss Hale, but she is currently with child.’

Margaret smiled broadly and offered Mrs Thornton her most heartfelt congratulations.

‘Perhaps John and I had better visit,’ she suggested, looking to him for an answer, ‘unless you are not feeling well enough that is? I would hate for your sister to hear all the news of our impending wedding from total strangers.’

John sighed. He took no delight in visiting his sister. Watson’s recent success through the speculation had made her more than a little self congratulatory, and she now took every opportunity to demonstrate her own wealth and comfort. When his own business had gone under, he had gone so far as to avoid her, knowing that her constant crowing would only make him more despairing, and fearing what he might say to her in response. But now he was restored he felt he ought to make the effort. It was well that he was not aware of Margaret’s (or rather, Mr Bell’s) share in the scheme, or the irony of the situation might prove a little too much for him.

‘It need only be a short visit,’ she said softly, laying her hand on top of his across the table.

‘I fear that where my sister is concerned there is no such thing as a short visit,’ he said grimacing. ‘But,’ he began again in a slightly lighter tone, ‘as I find I am quite forbidden to do any work today – and indeed, it seems I have very little to do, I suppose you are right, we ought to make a visit.’ He smiled at Margaret gently and returned to his battle with the soup spoon.

‘Will you join us?’ inquired Margaret, addressing his mother again, not sure if she really desired a positive or a negative. The journey, alone with John, would certainly be a blessing, but then to be left to her own defence with Fanny, while John and Watson talked business? She was not sure she would be able to endure it.

‘Perhaps not, Miss Hale,’ the older woman replied. ‘I still have a great number of things about the house to tend to, and I must make myself ready for your Aunt’s visit. You will excuse me this time.’ She smiled politely, and then looking to John, added in a somewhat different tone, ‘Besides which, I think I have heard quite enough about the drapes and wallpaper for the Nursery to last me a long while.’

John raised an eyebrow at his mother and shot her an incredulous smile. Margaret merely glanced between the two and shrugged internally. Clearly there were sides to Mrs Thornton which she had yet to experience!

And so it was that later that day they found themselves rolling through the centre of Milton in a cab. John leaned back in the seat and stretched his legs out. These last few days had been exhausting, and he felt sure that the worst was yet to come, yet he was content in his weariness, and with Margaret by his side he felt he could weather anything.

Margaret looked out of the window and watched the scenes pass by. She could hardly have believed that Milton would become a place of nostalgia and fondness to her, but so it was. There was the turning for the Higginses, and here the grocers where she and Dixon bought the daily supplies. And there the butchers, and the bakers, and her father’s favourite book-seller. And there the drapers; she had not been so familiar with that store during her last stay, they had not had the money to buy new clothes, but she felt she would see enough of its insides over the course of the next few weeks, and hear discussion of materials, and petticoats and patterns and embroidery enough to last her a lifetime.

‘I hope you are feeling eloquent today my love,’ said John, as they approached the Watson’s.

Margaret looked at him questioningly.

‘You are going to need to furnish yourself with as many enraptured terms as you possibly can concerning Indian wallpaper and baby-clothes, I feel.’ He smiled broadly and laughed.

Margaret wondered how often, if ever, she had heard that sound before she had returned to Milton. She recalled she might have seen him laugh once or twice at the dinner party, but that was a different laugh, a laugh born of necessity and politeness rather than real mirth. She realised with a wave of sadness, that she had never really seen him happy before, he was always weighed down with one care or another, striking men, failing business, and, she acknowledged with a pang, disappointed love. She wondered if it had always been like that, since he had been a boy.

‘What is it?’ he asked, catching the strange expression on her face, his brow furrowing with concern.

Margaret smiled softly and lifted her hand to his face, stroking his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers. The cab rolled to a halt outside the Watson’s house. Margaret leant forward and planted a soft tender kiss on his lips and then looked deeply into his eyes.

‘I love you, John Thornton,’ she whispered, and then stepped out of the cab and onto the pavement.

John watched her from behind with an expression of almost idiotic joy on his face. The events of the past few days, losing the business, regaining it again and then the excitement of the fire and his subsequent illness, all of these were becoming increasingly real to him, despite how ridiculous they sounded when he repeated them to himself, but this? This he still could not beleive. Here was he, John Thornton, not only in the same carriage as Miss Hale, when he thought he would never see her again, but engaged to her, and even more than that, engaged to her because she loved him, not because he was rich and a good prospect (well, he chuckled to himself inwardly, he used to be, whatever he might be now!) It was enough to make a man almost delerious with happiness. Stepping out of the carriage after her he shook his head and attempted to rearrange his features into a more presentable fashion before entering his sister's house.

Fanny Watson’s house was not dissimilar to Fanny herself. Loud, colourful, and decorated in the latest fashions, but in a way which seemed to entirely lack taste or sense. Margaret smiled as she stepped through the door. In her time in London she had often thought of Fanny’s ‘Indian Wallpaper’, albeit only as an excuse to return to Milton and see John one last time, and now here it was in all its glory.

‘Miss Hale!’ cried Fanny, rushing towards her in a flurry of lace and silk and over-starched petticoats.

‘Mrs Watson,’ said Margaret, taking her hand and kissing her politely on the cheek.

‘Well…’ said Fanny, stepping back and looking her up and down. ‘You are returned at last, and I am to congratulate you. Though I cannot say I am surprised. Mother always said that you meant to have John, though I do think you’ve gone about it in a most roundabout manner.’

‘Fanny!’ said John sternly, attempting to check his sister’s runaway tongue. Fanny, however, was not to be discouraged.

‘Still, I suppose there is no accounting for taste. You always did like to champion the poor I remember,’ she said, shooting a sly sideways glance at her brother, ‘and now John is penniless perhaps he is more to your taste. My friend, Ann Latimer – you know Ann, of course – did think to have him, but she could not be seen to marry a pauper. And now you are quite rich yourself and so all has turned out well. Although I must say I think you mad – returning from London to live in this dirty, smoky place. If you are thinking to persuade him to remove to the south then I am sorry to say you are sorely mistaken, I have tried many a time, but I could not get him to leave his precious Mill, and my Watson is much the same. These men and their business, it is so tiresome, is it not?’

John threw an exasperated glance at Margaret before allowing himself to be lead of by Watson to another room, leaving poor Margaret alone in the sitting room with Fanny.

As soon as she found a break in the conversation Margaret made an attempt to turn the topic away from herself and John, and onto other matters.

‘I hear I am to congratulate you,’ she began, when Fanny finally paused for air.

‘Yes,’ crowed Fanny triumphantly, smoothing her stomach. ‘Though it is most exhausting you know. I am up every morning, barely able to keep a morsel down until lunch time, and then of course, I cannot go out, one must not exert oneself in my condition, and as you know, I was always very delicate.’

Margaret inclined her head in silent agreement, internally wondering whether Fanny was ever inclined to exert herself anyway, and noting that she knew many a woman, particularly in the poorer districts, who exerted themselves every day up to the point of their confinement, and still managed to produce healthy bouncing babies. As it was, Fanny was not very far along, she still kept her figure, and seemed to have an endless energy for chatter and gossip. Margaret was inclined to think that were she in her situation (her heart rate raced a little at the thought of bearing John’s child), she would not be able to bear to be shut in doors and treated like an invalid until it was at all avoidable, but then, she reasoned, she and Fanny were two different people, two very different people indeed.

When the gentlemen returned to the sitting room almost an hour later, they found Fanny still talking rapidly to Margaret, who was sitting with an expression of serene patience, and looking over various samples of material for baby clothes. Evidently, they had been on this topic for some time, as there were swatches of material and pattern books strewn about the room. Indeed, the topic had not changed much since Margaret took the pains to alter it, and apart from some general enquiries about her wedding gown, which Margaret had replied to with such vagaries as to quickly lose her interest, the conversation had almost entirely run on Fanny, Fanny’s baby, Fanny’s house and all the furnishings within it.

When the time came to leave, Margaret climbed back into the cab with such feelings of exhaustion as if she had spent the whole day washing, ironing and starching, rather than talking and sipping tea. She slumped down into the seat and watched as John climbed in beside her.

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said, smiling.

‘Do what?’ she asked innocently.

‘Sit there looking interested and polite while she rattles away about who knows what,’ he replied. ‘I think you must be a saint. Just five minutes of Fanny’s prattle is usually enough to put me out of temper.’

‘Well fortunately I am not a rough, rude brute like you,’ she said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze, ‘and besides, I have had much practice at it of late. I have spent morning noon and night in the company of some tedious bore that we are bound to visit. And when I am permitted to stay at home I must listen to Edith rhapsodise about whatever face little Sholto is pulling, or hear her plans for his latest set of bootees.’ She laughed and threw her head back to rest against the back of the cab. ‘I love my cousin dearly,’ she said, smiling softly, ‘but it is so good to be back in Milton again.’

John smiled and placed his arm around her allowing her head to rest against his shoulder. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace, breathing deeply his scent almost dizzy with his closeness.

‘Am I rough and rude?’ he asked gently, after some minutes silence.

Margaret smiled and looked up into his eyes.

‘I used to think so,’ she said softly ‘In fact, I am sure I told you many a time that I did not consider you a gentleman.’

Thornton winced slightly at the recollection and looked as if he was about to say something, but Margaret placed her hand on his arm to silence him and continued.

‘But now… now I believe you are the kindest, most worthy and generous man I have ever met. The word gentleman does not even begin to cover it.’ She leant forward and kissed his forehead. ‘Now, whether that means that you have changed, and are no longer rough and rude, or that I have changed and have learned to love rough and rude, I could not tell you, and if I am very honest, I do not care. All I care is that I do love you, and that you love me, and that is all I need.’

John smiled and held her closely, ‘I have always loved you Margaret,’ he said gently, kissing her softly on the lips. ‘And whats more,’ he added cheekily, ‘I still loved you, even when you were a proud, haughty and prejudiced southerner!’

Margaret pinched him sharply on the arm and pulled away from him. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, laughingly, ‘that is all very well, but mind you don’t push the point, or I shall fast regain my southern prejudices, and then some!’

He laughed and rubbed his arm while he tried to think of a cutting remark about the violence of southerners when compared to northerners, but his words were cut short by the look of melancholy concern which Margaret now wore.

‘What is it, my love?’ he asked taking her hand in his.

Margaret sighed and sat back listlessly.

‘I fear you are not wrong about the prejudice of southerners,’ she said sadly. ‘I did not show you my Aunt's letter because it was not the sort of letter I should be proud of receiving. She has taken the news of our engagement worse than I suspected, and has accused you of a number of unpleasant things, which I do not wish to repeat, but which I fear you may hear for yourself anyway before too long. I am worried of what she will say, and what she will try and do John. Clearly she means to try and take me back to London with her…’ she trailed off and looked hopelessly at her hands.

‘And will you go?’ he asked softly.

She looked up into his eyes and sighed deeply.

‘Never,’ she replied.

‘Then let her try,’ he said and kissed her gently, as the cab rolled back into the yard of Marlborough Mills.

On re-entering the house they found a young boy waiting for them in the hallway, under his arm he held a large roll of papers. Upon hearing them enter he turned around swiftly, took his cap off and stared at his shoes.

‘Yes,’ said Thornton swiftly, ‘what is it?’

The boy looked slightly sheepish.

‘If you please sir, my father sent me to speak to Miss,’ he said, nodding at Margaret.

‘And who might your father be?’ he asked, darting an enquiring glance at Margaret, who was looking very pleased with herself, and was trying to stifle a giggle with her glove.

‘Mr Williams, the printer’ said the boy, still staring at his shoes.

‘The printer?’ said John, the confusion in his voice getting more palpable by the moment.

Margaret stepped forward and addressed the boy, laying a hand on John’s shoulder.

‘Well,’ she said softly, ‘do you have my order ready?’

The boy looked up and nodded brightly.

‘Yes Miss,’ he said. ‘Father had me bring it straight over soon as it were ready. Only you weren’t in Miss, so I thought I’d better wait.’

Margaret nodded and the boy handed her the roll of paper and then motioned towards a package, tied up in brown parcel paper, which lay on the side board.

Margaret took up the roll and peered inside.

‘Very good,’ she said. ‘And how would you like to earn yourself some extra money?’

The boy’s face lit up, ‘Oh, please miss!’

‘Then wait there,’ she said smiling, ‘so long as these are approved I will commission you to go and put them up all over town, if you are able.’

The boy nodded.

‘I do it all the time Miss,’ he said smiling, ‘I know all the best spots.’

‘Good,’ said Margaret, and turned to John with a smile.

Throughout this exchange John stood back, his hand upon his head with a look of marked confusion on his face.

‘Now,’ said Margaret, ‘I took the liberty of making a little commission on your part, which I thought might make the process of re-opening run a little smoother,’ she paused and looked up at the puzzled and somewhat troubled expression on his face. ‘Of course, if you don’t like them you only have to say and I will dismiss the idea at once, only I saw the others when we first drove back into town, and it made me so sad I felt I must do something to change it the moment I could.’

‘Others?’ said John, his confusion growing every moment.

By way of explanation Margaret peeled one of the papers out of the roll and unfurled it before him. On it, written in a bold, elegant type, was a notice proclaiming the re-opening of Marlborough Mills for business with a date for a fortnight hence emblazoned beneath it.

‘Well,’ said John, somewhat taken aback. ‘I suppose I’d better be ready to open by then or I shall look like a fool shan’t I?’

Margaret smiled, and handed the papers back to the boy, motioning him to go about his business.

John took her hand and chuckled quietly.

‘Well, you have been busy, haven’t you? And what, dare I ask, are these over here? Are we to publish a newsletter too?’

‘Of sorts,’ replied Margaret, ‘your mother drew these up for me. She is much better at all that business speak that I am, but I thought perhaps you could send these out to all your former contacts, with a short personal note, of course. It would save you a great many hours at the writing table – seeing as as of yet you have no clerks in your employ to undertake the task for you,’ and she produced from the package, a smaller, more detailed version of the poster.

‘You think of everything, my dear,’ he said, kissing her on the top of her head. ‘Between you and my mother I am not sure I will be needed to run the Mill any more.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Margaret playfully. ‘When you are fully recovered and we are married I shall take my proper place as a Mill owner’s wife, and sit about discussing curtains and table settings and wallpaper all day until I drive you all mad.’

‘If that is your inclination, I know several young women who would make ideal companions for you,’ he replied laughing, and excusing himself went off into the house in search of his mother.

***

**  
  
**

The arrival of her London relatives was fixed for two days hence, yet for Margaret it felt like a lifetime. She at once dreaded their ever coming and yet wished they would hurry up and arrive, it was a most unpleasant business and she wished it was over at once. She had read her Aunt’s letter, oh – at least a hundred times, and almost every phrase was fixed in her mind. She dreaded her reaction to John. Her letter clearly fixed him as a penniless opportunist out to seek his own fortune at the expense of Margaret’s reputation, and (she blushed at the recollection of the words) there was even an insinuation that her maidenhood had somehow been compromised by his ‘brutish ways’ and that the marriage was merely a necessity resulting from this. At this Margaret was incandescent with rage. She did not know what she resented more, the slur on her virtue, John’s morality, or the numerous accusations of neglect and incompetence which the Aunt had levelled at her poor departed father in blame.

But she was not to be shaken. She had almost lost him once, nay, twice, if you she counted the incident with the fire, and she was not about to let a prejudiced busybody, relative or no, interfere with her future happiness. It pained her to think that she was offending the woman who had been as close as a mother to her in her childhood, never mind a cousin who was in many ways a sister and her closest friend (excepting of course, John himself, and poor dear Bessie), but if it must be so then it must be so.

She busied herself about the house, assisting Mrs Thornton in any way she could. Internally she was anxious that the house should appear as neat, tidy and fashionable as was possible in order to placate her relatives and relieve them of their belief in the backwardness of Milton society in general. She had drawn up mental lists of fashionable concerts they might attend, and members of high society they might visit, in the hope that, should things go well, she would be able to reconcile them to life in Milton, and she was secretly relieved that the Mill was still closed, so that there could be no complaints about the noise, smell or sight of the workers, though she had timed a few choice deliveries and appointments for John throughout their visit, to demonstrate his general importance, success and weight within the manufacturing circles – all from men she knew to be of a respectable looking, toadying sort of nature. She had even enlisted the help of Higgins to hand pick a number of reasonably presentable, intelligent and well spoken men to work these periods, so as to give a favourable impression of the men in general, a request which, by the by, had met with much indignation from Higgins himself (a proud Miltonian and union man through and through), who had taken much coaxing and cajoling and promising of good food and fair wages etc, etc, to bring him round to the plan.

Yet outwardly she tried to appear calm and content. She did not wish to give John any undue cause for concern. She knew his fiery temper, and was determined to keep it in check if at all possible. The less he knew about the potential problems awaiting them the better, she would attempt to console them and deflect their criticisms so that he need not bear the brunt of them. Indeed, his pride had already suffered a severe enough blow without her aunt rubbing salt in the wound.

And so the days passed in a haze of cleaning, ordering, fretting and fussing. She hardly saw John at all. He was much occupied at the Mill with preparations for the Mill, and when he returned in the evening their day’s exertions often left them too exhausted for much conversation. Margaret herself was too distracted and John seemed hardly less so, and so it was that she found herself, mid morning, standing on the front steps of the house besides Mrs. Thornton (John was already away working in the Mill), dressed in the best things that she had with her, watching as her Aunt’s carriage rolled into the courtyard of Marlborough Mills.


	6. Chapter Six

John stood at the window of his office, staring grim faced into the yard as the carriage rolled up. From his vantage point he could see his mother and Margaret clearly, and although their figures were a little distant, the firm set of his mother’s shoulders, and the small fluttering motion of Margaret’s hands as she toyed with various aspects of her dress, smoothing out imaginary creases and straightening lace cuffs, showed him all to well how the women of the household were feeling. More than anything he wished he could be there now, standing next to her, to protect her from anything and anyone who might hurt her, relative or no; but she was insistent. It was less than two weeks until the mill re-opened, and, rather conveniently, he thought with a small grimace, she had secured the visit of several, rather ostentatious contacts to occupy his morning.

To the familiar eye Marlborough Mills was still a ghost of its former self. The machinery was still quiet, the chimneys smoke free, but a steady stream of carts, clerks, buyers and meant that there was a certain hum about it that morning, a hum, that if he was not very much mistaken, John Thornton was certain had been engineered entirely by one Miss Margaret Hale, so that the business should appear respectably busy, and yet not too noisy, dirty, smelly or common to the delicate sensibilities of a southern lady. He smiled, as he watched her greet her aunt with a graceful elegance and reverence, but the smile on his lips turned steely as he observed her travelling companions. He had expected the Aunt, and although Margaret had warned him of her prejudices against him, he felt sure that, strong and determined as she was, she would be well able to resist her persuasion. Likewise, he had also harboured a suspicion that the cousin might accompany her, as Margaret had often described in manners akin to a sister. This he could cope with, but what he was not prepared for was the man. He recognised him vaguely from the station, ‘Henry’ she had called him, and his name recalled some of that bitter anguish he had felt when she had left him so abruptly on the bench. Why was he here? What on earth was he to do with anything? He understood from the little conversation that they had had on the subject that he was her cousin’s brother in law, and a lawyer, and that he had assisted Margaret in her attempts to clear the name of her brother, but why should he have any say in her marriage? Thornton watched as the party turned and walked into the house, a deep scowl growing steadily on his features.

Margaret breathed deeply as she led her Aunt towards the drawing room. Her mind was racing. Her Aunt had reacted as she had expected, there was a look of grim displeasure on her face as she exited the carriage and took in her surroundings, Edith had clamped a handkerchief over her face and pulled many expressions of disgust, at which Margaret had to restrain herself from laughing. She wondered how her sensitive cousin might have reacted if she had arrived at the Mills in all their smoky, clattering, fluff strewn glory. But the arrival of Henry Lennox was something of a puzzle to her. She had not expected him, no mention of him was made in the letter, beyond his role in the events at the station, and she wondered what his purpose could be in coming. She had shot a small expression of alarm at Mrs Thornton, on seeing him alight from the carriage. She had only given instructions that accommodation for her Aunt, and possibly her cousin, be set in order, no preparation had been made for a gentleman. Her look was met by a small, grim smile from the older woman, and Margaret relaxed a little as she remembered Mr Thornton’s earnest entreaty that Mr Bell come and lodge himself with them during one of his visits, as his mother always kept all her rooms in readiness for any guests. She smiled a little and silently thanked the efficiency of her future mother in law’s housekeeping. She would certainly be a hard act to follow.

Now, as showed them through and ordered the tea things, all the while making small talk about the length of the journey, and polite enquiries about their common acquaintances, her mind was racing. Why on earth was he there? Had he been brought along to act as witness to her degradation, and to give testimony as to her conduct at the station, or did her aunt have another purpose in requesting his presence? Or, possibly worse, had he himself elected to come, out of some sort of feeling of responsibility for her behaviour. Her stomach shrank a little as she recalled his proposals to her at Helstone, all that long time ago. She had not failed to notice that both Edith, and to a lesser extent, her Aunt had been pressing her into Henry’s society while she stayed in London, or that he himself had been most eager to assist her in any way he could. It was not that she was insensible to his attentions, rather, that they had suited her purpose at the time, she needed help, first with the case for Frederick, and afterwards with preparing a convincing business plan to rescue John, and so she had done little to discourage him. Her cheeks flushed slightly now that she recalled the way she had used him; although, she reasoned to herself, perhaps she had not used him entirely, or perhaps, not at first, when she considered John lost to her – if circumstances had been different, who knows, perhaps she could have been persuaded to form some sort of attachment to him. But now, her heart dropped at the thought that he might consider her in some way obliged to him, or in need of rescue by him. After all, judging by the contents of her aunts letter, it was not incomprehensible that they were labouring under the misapprehension that she was marrying for the necessity of saving her reputation, in which case any man might do, and if a man could be found willing closer to home, then he might be presumed the better option!

‘Margaret,’ began Aunt Shaw, almost as soon as they had entered the sitting room, ‘What on earth were you thinking coming back to this place?’ Her tone was tight and thick with displeasure.

Margaret took a deep inward breath and steadied her nerves. She was determined not to be riled.

‘Thinking, Aunt?’ she said calmly, handing out the tea things. ‘Why, you know exactly what I was thinking. I ran it all past Henry before we left. I had a business proposition which I wanted to put to Mr Thornton, and so I came to see him.’

‘Yes, yes,’ continued her Aunt irritably, ‘but that scene at the station, to be marrying the man! Really Margaret, you have taken leave of your senses!’

Mrs Thornton’s eyebrows raised slightly, she did not like the implication that one must take leave of ones senses in order to wish to marry her son, but more than that, she wondered what was being referred by the ‘scene’ at the station. She knew John had met Miss Hale travelling south while he returned north, but what happened between the two of the in order to reach the understanding they had come to was still a mystery. She smiled a little, perhaps Miss Hale was not as prim and proper as she sometimes looked.

‘Now Aunt,’ said Margaret tersely, ‘really, you are overreacting! There is nothing more natural than my current circumstances! I have lived in Milton for over a year now, it is my home’ she shot a warning glance under her eyebrows to silence any protestations, ‘and John… that is Mr Thornton and I have at least been acquaintances for almost all of that time, if not good friends. He has been very good to me Aunt. Indeed, you know it was he who helped us pick out our house when we fist came here, and he was such a good friend to dear papa. Perhaps it was a little sudden, given that we had not seen each other since my removal to London, but really, had circumstances been a little different, had I not had to leave, had father not…’ here her voice faltered a little, ‘well, all I am saying is that things may not have turned out so differently anyway, and then you would not think of me as having taken leave of my senses would you?’

She sat down and sipped her tea calmly.

‘But Margaret, my dear,’ began her Aunt again, ‘his circumstances…’

Here Margaret set down her tea-cup a little too firmly, causing the china to rattle and clatter, and stood up. She raised her chin and looked down at her Aunt, her upper lip curling haughtily. ‘Enough, madam,’ she began in a firm tone. ‘You made your feelings perfectly clear in your letter, and I will ask you not to insult my future husband in his own house, especially when he is not present to defend himself.’ She took a deep breath, calmed herself and continued. ‘We will discuss this matter further later when you have had time to acquaint yourself fully with Mr Thornton. You can see for yourself my current circumstances, I am not in want of comfort, you see.’ She stopped and smiled slightly. ‘I remember overhearing you say to my parents, at Edith’s wedding, that you envied their situation, their ability to marry for love, and that you were pleased that Edith could do the same,’ she smiled at her cousin softly, ‘well now I have the means to do so also, and I hope that you will learn to be happy for me too.’

Her Aunt opened her mouth and shut it again, while Edith blushed into her tea-cup.

At this point Mrs Thornton rose, feeling it would now be a good time to take over in her duties as hostess.

‘Ladies,’ she began, ‘you must be tired after your long journey, allow me to show you to your rooms, where you can rest and freshen up.’ She crossed to the doorway, and passing Margaret on the way, softly took her hand in hers and patted it.

‘Come,’ she said, ‘I will send one of my menservants to you to show you to your quarters Mr Lennox, if you will just wait there.’ And bowing slightly, she led the party from the room.

Henry Lennox stood for a moment, in the same spot he had occupied throughout the entire conversation, his eyes fixed on the spot where Margaret had last stood. He exhaled deeply. She was certainly a special creature. He snapped back into consciousness as the servant entered and offered to escort him upstairs. This Thornton fellow, wherever he was hiding right now, had better be very good to her, he thought bitterly as he left the room.

Back at the Mills, Thornton was trying hard to focus his mind on the tasks in hand, but it kept returning to the house, and to her. Where was she now, he wondered, was she ok, was she thinking of him, had they managed to persuade her from him? Each time he scolded himself, and told himself to trust her, and but each time the nagging worm of doubt returned to him, gnawing away, reminding him of his own insolvency, and, he thought, remembering the appearance of Henry Lennox with a grimace, of the better prospects that could be offered to her.

Back at the house the ladies were ensconced in their rooms, fixing their toilette and readying themselves for the evening meal, but Henry could not be so relaxed. He dismissed the servant that had been sent to attend him, informing him that he was in need of some air, and was going to take a turn about the yard outside, before letting himself out of the house.

Outside in the yard a large cart had just arrived, laden with cotton bales, which Thornton was overseeing the unloading of. Henry strolled around, and settled himself onto a platform to watch the procedure unfolding in front of him. Mr Thornton stood slightly to the side, with a board and paper in his hand, checking off lists and giving directions to the workers. The atmosphere was easy, the men talked freely while they worked, but the task seemed to be carried out efficiently, Thornton certainly looked comfortable in his position, and Henry noted the natural air of authority that the man seemed to have about him. He stared at his own feet for a time deep in contemplation, then his attention was arrested be a shout sent up by the men. A cotton bale on top of the pile had become dislodged threatening to bring the entire load crashing down onto the heads of the workers below, and was currently being held precariously in place by a young boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, whose job it seemed to be to clamber about on top of the carts, loosening the bond. No sooner had the cry gone up than Thornton had shucked off his own jacket and clambered on board himself to assist. Soon, between the group, the bale was lowered carefully to the ground, and the threat of collapse was averted. Thornton jumped down again, shared a brief joke with one of the men, then slipped his jacket back on and returned to his previous authoritative stance.

Henry smiled, ‘and practical too, Mr Thornton’ he thought, nodding gently, very good. His thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt change of expression on Thornton’s face. The stern scowling look of concentration melted quickly into a soft smile, and for a moment he seemed oblivious of the work going on around him, or the questions his workers were putting to him. Henry followed his eye line, and it didn’t take long for him to discover the cause of his distraction, Margaret had appeared in the doorway, and it appeared, was about to take a walk.

Henry smiled a little, a resolution forming rapidly within his mind. He allowed himself to remain unseen a moment longer, and then hallooed Margaret from across the yard.

‘Miss Hale!’ he called, keeping his voice as light and coincidental as possible so as not to give his position as eavesdropper known. ‘I see we are of a like mind – a walk before the meal is exactly what I need, especially after sitting so long in one attitude – would you mind if I joined you?’

Margaret nodded her head prettily and took the arm Henry offered, and together the two of them set off into the streets of Milton. Whatever mental disquiet Henry had been under when he arrived at Marlborough Mills was gone, he had seen enough and made up his mind, he knew how to act, and now he had only to persuade others over to his task – he did not anticipate it being a particularly difficult one.

John, however, was another matter. As he watched Margaret leave on the arm of Mr Lennox his mood shifted from anxious to black. He felt certain that this Henry had some intentions regarding Margaret, and his wobbly grasp upon his own self-worth left him unable to entirely believe that she would be unreceptive to them.

A short while later John returned to the house for lunch. As he passed by the second floor stairwell he heard Margaret and Lennox re-enter the house, his blood froze momentarily as he overheard a snippet of their conversation.

‘Thank you for being so understanding Henry – when I left you at the station, I have to confess, I quite dreaded what you thought of me, I am all too aware of how it must have looked, and I confess, I had quite convinced myself you would hate me, and that you certainly would not wish to ever speak with me again. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to learn otherwise. I thank you for your help with this little situation between me and Mr Thornton. Your intervention will certainly make things easier for me.’

‘It is my pleasure Margaret, you know I would do anything to aid you.’

John did not stay to hear any more. With a black scowl over his features he entered sitting room and awaited the rest of the party. Margaret, his mother and Mr Lennox were the first to arrive. Margaret made the obligatory introductions between the two men, and John acknowledged his presence with a stiff bow, but said nothing to any of them. Soon they were joined by Edith and Aunt Shaw, at whom John cast the briefest of glances, bowed and mumbled something about ‘pleasure’, before swiftly offering Margaret his arm and almost marching towards the dining room.

Margaret was most perplexed about his mood. She had hoped to show her relatives his gentle, considerate and reliable side, but today it seemed he was determined to act almost every inch the rough tradesman they thought him to be. Her lower lip protruded somewhat in a slight pout, but reasoned that some matter of business might have been responsible for putting him in this despondent mood.

The meal passed with very little conversation between the entire party, and after Margaret had wasted her entire supply of small talk and polite observations it was in grave danger of lapsing into silence entirely, until John reached out for a water decanter and Edith noticed the fresh scars upon his hand.

‘Goodness!’ she cried her eyes wide with something like horror. ‘What on earth happened to your hand?’

Aunt Shaw threw her daughter a look of scorn and cautioned her mind her manners.

John simply bowed his head as if to dismiss the insult, and muttered something about ‘fire.’

‘Fire?’ said Edith her manners forgotten in her curiosity.

‘It was nothing.’ Said John bluntly, in no mood for small talk of any sort with these people, but Margaret intervened immediately.

‘Indeed, it was not nothing!’ she said indignantly. ‘Mr Thornton is far too modest’ she continued addressing her relatives. ‘There was a fire at another factory, and John, that is Mr Thornton, was involved in the rescue. He saved a young boy from a burning building, and I might add quite at the expense of his own safety. He was quite shockingly ill afterwards, we were all very concerned for him.’

John lifted his eyes to meet hers and found the expression of admiration and sadness within. To everyone at the table it was quite clear that Margaret was besotted with this man, and that the memory of his near loss was still quite painful. But John, confused and angered by the conversation earlier remained uncertain – his heart told him that she loved him, but his head overruled and told him it was ridiculous, he was not sure what to believe.

Edith looked towards him with a look of tempered admiration. Margaret was glad of this opportunity to bring the fire into the conversation, as she was certain it would go a long way to winning over Edith’s romantic sensibilities. Her Aunt, however, was not so easily convinced.

‘Are cotton Mills so very dangerous as to necessitate such rash considerations of ones own life, sir?’ she asked snappily.

John restrained from rolling his eyes at the obvious distaste in her voice.

‘It is a risk in our business, yes,’ he said simply, ‘the cotton waste is liable to catch fire if you are incautious with a flame. Fire is the greatest risk in my line of work, but we take great pains to ensure ourselves against such an event. The buildings are constructed in such a way as to make them less liable to burn, and we take very stringent measures against those who put any of us at risk.’ He looked pointedly towards Margaret, remembering the occasion of their meeting.

‘Indeed,’ commented Henry, ‘I did a little reading about the buildings at Marlborough Mills before we arrived. It seems Mr Thornton here has spared no expense to ensure that the buildings are most up to date in their design – the roof supports are metal, I believe, are they not sir, so as to prevent their catching in the event of a fire, and in such a case, to prevent the collapse of the floors onto the workers and machinery below?’

Thornton nodded, wondering how it was that this Lennox fellow came to have such information on the construction and running of his Mills. He did not like the idea that he might have been checking up on him, looking for weaknesses in his business plan. Well he would not find any, he thought with some satisfaction. Though the mills had collapsed under his care, it had not been through any want of responsibility on his part, had not it been for the unfortunate strikes the money he had invested into the refurbishment of the buildings would have recouped their costs in the long run, that was plain to see. No, he told himself, attempting to bolster his pride, he had just been unlucky.

‘Indeed,’ continued Henry, ‘I have read much to impress. You have a wheel installed too, I understand, and your chimneys burn their own smoke? All capital ideas I feel, financially of course. It makes sense to make the initial outgoing if it can prevent future costs, re-training the workers and so forth. In fact, did not Margaret mention that you had set up a kitchen here too?’

Both John and Margaret nodded and looked a little confused. How and when did Henry Lennox obtain so much information and opinion about the cotton industry?

‘I should very much like to see the place, if you have time to show me when we have finished sir,’ he ended cheerfully, smiling at the entire party.

John blinked twice and nodded his agreement, while Margaret simply stared at him in dumb bemusement. Mrs Thornton raised an eyebrow, and gave her son a quizzical look, Aunt Shaw merely sniffed and continued her meal.

After dinner the group retired to the adjoining room. On rising Mr Thornton advised Mr Lennox to change his clothes into something ‘less fine’ lest the cotton waste stick to his clothing and ruin it entirely. There was a sneering note in his voice which suggested he was not impressed by the London lawyers fancy clothes or clever talk. Margaret noticed it and lingered behind the other to speak to him before he gave his tour of the factory.

‘John,’ she said, laying her arm on his. ‘Is everything all right with the Mill?’

‘Yes,’ he replied shortly, avoiding her gaze stubbornly.

‘Then why are you being so short with my family?’ she said, unable to keep the note of petulance out of her voice. ‘I understand that they can be a little offensive, but really, I am trying to convince them of your worth, you might at least try to help me by being a little more sociable and less taciturn!’

‘I cannot help what I am!’ he snapped angrily, ‘and I’ve no time to be putting on airs and graces for fancy Londoners who make it very clear they’ve no interest in me or what I have to offer.’ He looked at her pointedly, his eyes a mixture of anger and hurt. ‘You know what I am Margaret, I cannot pretend to be anything else, and if you don’t like it, I will not hold you to anything you do not wish to do,’ his voice cracked a little, and he excused himself immediately, saying he needed to show Mr Lennox around the Mill promptly as he urgent business to attend to himself.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter 7

It was all Henry Lennox could do to prevent himself from laughing outright as he trailed Thornton around the various out buildings, workshops and factory floors. He noted inwardly that it was well that the survival of Malborough Mills did not depend on its masters talents as a tour guide, or the place would certainly fold again and no amount of financial backing, be it from a pretty young lady or not, would be able to supply the shortcoming this time. Instead he simply trailed after his host, nodding, smiling, and making banal observations and half interested asides as the grim northerner grunted out asides such as ‘Carding room’ , ‘Engine Room’ and ‘Beam room’. In truth, Henry Lennox was not particularly interested in Mills. To be sure, they were impressive examples of what modern technology was capable of, but they were also dirty, smelly, stuffy, and probably very hard work. He had made the visit with one aim in mind, and that resolution now properly formed and finalized, he supposed he ought to stop teasing his host and begin to own it. Yet there was something slightly comical about the brooding Mill Owners countenance as is sunk deeper and deeper into a scowl that he could not resist the urge to toy with him.

He followed him a few paces further and then came to rest abruptly on an abandoned cotton bale with an over dramatic sigh.

Mr Thornton stopped suddenly and turned to face his companion. What kind of man was this that he had to sit and take a break after a mere tour of a factory? He crowed inwardly to himself. These southern men are clearly soft – he would not last five minutes if he were required to do a days real work, instead of sitting at his desk all day attempting to be clever by earning more money than he was really worth. Thornton scowled involuntarily at the thought of the other man’s comparative solvency and tapped is foot impatiently.

To his surprise, Henry Lennox, far from being flustered by this obvious gesture of frustration, simply cracked a large smile, and settled back on the bale.

‘Remarkably comfy this cotton,’ he commented, hardly able to keep the mirth out of his voice.

Thornton mumbled something incoherent.

‘It is a very impressive establishment you have here, sir,’ he continued, ‘very impressive indeed.’

Thornton mumbled again, and threw the lawyer a thunderous look.

Mr Lennox only replied to this look with a short laugh, and then sat up straight, with his hands braced on his knees and looked Thornton directly in the eye.

‘Enough, sir! It will out!’

Thornton looked more than a little confused.

‘I’m afraid I have been playing with your good nature sir, and, it would seem, your patience.’

The mill owner scowled at him formidably, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I will not deny, I came here with one purpose alone. I have known Margaret for many years now,’ (the other gentleman flinched visibly at this open use of his intended’s first name, and clenched his fists), ‘and I have to admit, when I saw your little ‘scene’ at the Midlands Station I was in half a mind to come over and knock you out.’ Thornton took an involuntary step towards him, and made as if he were about to speak, ‘But then I thought of something…’ a change in tone made Thornton stop and view the speaker curiously.

‘I can see that you have not taken my appearance in your house entirely calmly, sir, and given the current circumstances, I can hardly say I blame you, my Mother and sister in law can be quite trying at times, I am well aware,’ he continued, ‘and I am sure my unexpected appearance has only added to your distress and discomfort. Yet I hope you will soon come to appreciate that I come to you as an ally, not as a foe.’

Thornton’s brow relaxed a little and took on a quizzical turn, but his eye remained steely and still he said nothing.

‘I am,’ began Henry once more, ‘excessively fond of Miss Hale – I see that you would object – and I agree, I am not in the least bit as fond as you, quite clearly are. You, I notice, are barely restraining the urge to flatten me at once, where as my feelings to you this entire visit, excepting that one moment at the station, which I attribute to momentary madness, and a frustration that I had once again been thwarted, are entirely cordial, and could even be called warm, I suppose. She would have made a very desirable wife, I dare say, but I suppose I cannot have been in love.’ He sniffed a little, and continued. ‘You see, when I was at the station, and mindful to knock your block off (though weakling I am, I should have made a poor show of it I am sure!) I remembered something my sister in law had told me, while we were visiting the exhibition. I fact, I think it was occasioned by my attempts to get Margaret to criticize Milton in favor of London, perhaps I should have seen it then! She told me that ‘Margaret had always had her own mind,’ and I know that to be true. You may not know this, but I once made Miss Hale an offer myself. She turned me down flat, of course, but I flattered myself that I presented a desirable enough prospect that I might in course have changed her mind. And then when I saw you together at the station, knowing your financial situation as it was at the time, if you’ll pardon me, I realized that I could have been the maharaja himself and it would not have made the slightest bit of difference. Margaret has always had her own mind, and it would seem that I was not on it, and you, most fortunate sir! You were.’

John stood and stared a little at this speech, not entirely sure what to make of the gentleman before him.

Mr Lennox had not yet finished. ‘So, when I heard of the Aunts plans to visit, I knew instantly that I ought to come to your aid!’

At this Thornton coughed a little, and looked alarmed.

‘My aid?’ he said slowly, ‘what do you think I am, that I might not be able to cope with a visit from a pair of women?’

Lennox grinned slightly, encouraged that he had finally got the man to speak, rather than just sitting there, white and livid, like some fearsome statue, though he was not entirely certain that he would still refrain from flattening him, should the slightest provocation arise.

‘Ah, sir!’ he cried in response, ‘if only it were just a visit! If only they were just women! No indeed sir, when they have a point to press they can be veritable harpies – heaven forbid my brother hear me mention his wife in that manner, but it is true! I have heard no end of trouble on their part this good few weeks from them pressing me to propose to Miss Hale, and then endless tirades against my character for allowing her to be spirited away by another! Trust me sir, while they may appear dainty and coiffed, they are indeed savage animals!’

At this Thornton could not help be laugh. He remembered the horrified looks on their faces as they entered the Mill yard, and the way they appeared afraid to touch anything in the vicinity lest it sully them somehow, and tried to reconcile it to the description of a savage beast, but he could not!

Lennox smiled, feeling at last they had reached common ground, and laid his hand on Thornton’s shoulder. Thornton eyed it somewhat suspiciously, but let it remain.

‘Perhaps I over exaggerate a little,’ he said, smiling, ‘I never was much good with women, ‘ but whatever they may be, I do know that they are very susceptible to influence, and I, thankfully, by dint of fortune and ‘respectability’ (here an involuntary snort from Thornton) am in a position to exert such a force. I have already been in confidence with Margaret, and have obtained from her all your most heroic and noble qualities,’ – Thornton actually blushed – ‘and from my own research I know your own business acumen, very impressive if I may say so, as well as your potential for capital growth, and your influence in society. I have wheedled out the rich and influential in your company, and I come prepared to toady! I shall sing your praises morning noon and night for the duration of our visit. I had suggested to Margaret that I might suggest to you a few tips on how to conduct yourself in front of the indomitable madams, but she appeared somewhat affronted that you might behave anything other than how you are, and have me reason to believe that you would be so too, and I can see now from your countenance.’

In fact, John’s face had suddenly turned steely at the recollection of his hasty words to Margaret before he left, and he suddenly doubted the other man’s faith in his own character. A grim look of resolution formed on his features and he turned to the other gentleman.

‘No indeed,’ he replied, ‘if there is anything I can do to make Margaret happy, I will do it. Even making pleasantries to her relatives.’ He smiled, and there was a note of irony in his voice, tinged with sadness with Henry spotted immediately.

‘Perhaps we should return to the ladies?’ he suggested.

Thornton nodded grimly and the gentleman quitted the Mill together.

Meanwhile, back in the drawing room the ladies sat in silence. Margaret, too upset and confused to attempt much conversation, kept her eyes fixed on a piece of needlework she was completing, and gave only brief fragmentary answers to the questions and comments raised by the others. Mrs Thornton, who had never been one for small talk made some brave attempts at conversation, but most of them faltered after the first few steps. Aunt Shaw, remembering her manners to some extent ventured some banal compliments on the quality of the furnishings and decoration, while Edith simply gazed vacantly around the room, occasionally chirping in, to noone in particular, the latest tricks and developments her little Sholto, or darling Baby had recently learned. All in all, they were a most miserable and unsociable party until the gentlemen returned.

Henry returned first, having changed back into his finer garb, and began at once, rather loudly proclaiming the wonders of the Mill to all who would hear. Mrs Thornton was particularly gratified by hearing that he found it the most spectacular factory he had ever visited, and agreed most heartily with his general observations about the talents and skill required to run such a place efficiently. He continued in on such a theme, enthusing about the general majesty and power of industry and its leaders until Mr Thornton re-entered the room.

Margaret’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw him.

He was dressed smartly, but not overly so, in a suit of the latest cut and fashion, not something he regularly during his work at the Mill, and had put on a deep burgundy cravat which complimented his eyes and skin tone perfectly. His hair was neatly arranged, and there was a faint smell of musk and cologne as he entered. He bowed politely to his guests and he crossed the threshold and then sauntered easily across the room and helped himself to a glass of port.

‘My apologies for neglecting you all,’ he said in a soft deep tone, ‘ I fear I have been preoccupied with the preparations at the Mill, and have been ill prepared for entertaining; I hope you will forgive me.’ He settled himself into a chair and stretched his legs out luxuriously, showing off their fine length.

‘Indeed, not at all!’ began Lennox, immediately. ‘We could hardly be treated better, given that we have chosen such an inconvenient time to descend on you.’ He gave Aunt Shaw and Edith a pointed look at this point. ‘I trust all goes according to plan.’

‘I flatter myself that Marlborough Mills shall once again be integral player in Milton life in no time at all,’ said John smoothly. ‘And now I have settled the initial preparations, I hope I may turn my attention to other matters at hand.’ He threw Margaret an adoring and pleading glance, and smiled at the Aunt cordially. ‘And while you are here I shall take this opportunity of extending our welcome to you again during the wedding. I am sure that Margaret will want you with her at such an important time, and her happiness is of utmost importance to me.’

Aunt Shaw let out a small huffing noise, as if to express her displeasure and doubt at such an event occurring, but Margaret, her courage rising again with every moment spent in Mr Thornton’s presence, lifted her head as said steadily.

‘Of course. I should like that very much, Aunt.’

Aunt Shaw only sniffed again, Edith looked a little uncertain.

Margaret scowled, lifted her chin a little and said continued ‘But of course, if it is too much trouble I am sure Mrs Thornton and I will cope together admirably. Milton can supply everything I would need, and my wants are so simple.’ Turning to Mrs Thornton now she continued. ‘And besides, you put on such an impressive show at Fanny’s wedding, and as you are to be my nearest family (and emphasis both Edith and Aunt Shaw were unable to miss) it might only be right to turn to you for help, and allow my Aunt and Cousin to return to their London ways.’

‘But Margaret!’ Aunt Shaw began to object, ‘surely you cannot expect to find everything you need in a place like this! And surely you cannot be expected to carry all the decisions about the trousseau yourself, you must have the advantage of a London dressmaker, at the very least.’

Margaret drew herself up tall, and laid her sewing to one side, and with the corners of her mouth slightly upturned in a mischievous smirk answered. ‘Now really Aunt, enough of this. Our Milton craftsmanship can compare to the very best you know! And here in the North, we value our independence!’

Both mother and son shot her an incredulous look, and once again Mrs Thornton felt her respect for her future daughter in law rise. Perhaps she had judged her too harshly at first. Living with people such as this it was hardly surprising she should come out with some airs and graces, but in time she would make a true native of Milton, she was sure.

Sensing a lull in the conversation Henry once again seized a chance and began the offensive.

‘You know Thornton, I was having dinner quite recently with a fellow I believe you might know. I am sure he hails from these parts. Lord ------?’ he said, naming a gentleman who had been the toast of the latest season in London, and was well known for being rather dashing, amusing, powerful and ridiculously rich.

‘Ah yes.’ Said Thornton slowly. ‘I know the fellow. We’ve dined together on several occasions. In fact, I think Margaret might have met him during the last dinner party we hosted at home.’

Margaret nodded, though she could not pretend she remembered meeting with anyone of the sort at the time, though it may well be true.

Aunt Shaw’s ears pricked up. She could hardly believe that anyone of the fashionable circuit would spend any amount of time in such parts.

‘His wife is a very good friend of my sister’s,’ he continued, smiling pleasantly. ‘My sister is lately indisposed – otherwise I am certain she would have been determined to make your acquaintance during your visit. Fanny is excessively fond of London, and relishes every opportunity to talk of it.’

‘Oh!’ said Edith, who was a little disappointed at not being able to meet with the one person in Milton whose society she had felt she might enjoy. Margaret had spoken of Fanny in such terms as to make her feel that they would have much in common. ‘I do hope she is not too unwell.’

‘No indeed,’ said Margaret softly, looking towards John for confirmation. ‘Mrs Watson’s indisposition is of the best kind possible, you will understand why she is not able to come to visit.’

Edith’s eyes brightened. Next to furnishing and music and dancing, the thing she loved best was Children. Her own two boys were her pride and joy, and the prospect of spending an evening discussing them, instead of mills and other such tedious business was too tempting.

‘I wonder,’ she said haltingly, ‘would she be agreeable to a visit? Seeing as we are soon to become family…’

Margaret smiled warmly.

‘I am sure she would be delighted to receive us, if she is feeling up to entertaining. I shall write her a note this evening, if you wish.’

She looked across to Mrs Thornton, who nodded in approval, and Margaret thought she saw her roll her eyes. The irony that Fanny Watson, with all her flightiness, and fussy ways, could be the key to convincing her family that Milton society was not beyond hope, was a novel one, yet one that might just work. Aunt Shaw could not fail to think the décor in the house a little gaudy, yet it was all in the very latest fashions, and so she could not possibly object. And Fanny, with her thirst for chatter and love of frippery was bound to find a soulmate in Edith – she wondered why she had not noticed the similarities between the two earlier.

Henry simply smiled at Thornton. The work was nearly done. He could see from the Aunts expression that the mere mention of a respectable peer of the realm had done much to sway her impression, and the pinched, disgusted expression had gone from her face. Edith, who had always been one for dashing heroics, had clearly warmed to the gentleman after the tale of his daring rescue of a young boy, was now looking positively excited at the thought of visiting his sister. The seeds were sown, and now all that was left was to water them copiously, and await their fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all I've got so far! I last looked at this story in 2008, so it might take me a while to get back into it. If you like, and you have questions about what comes next feel free to ask them and prompt me into thinking about where I was trying to take it.


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